I have been known to be a procrastinator. Shocking, I know. Currently, this applies to requesting a copy of my birth certificate from the state. I think it was handed over to me sometime in college for something important, like getting my passport when I studied abroad. Then I put it away for safe keeping and it has never been seen again.
I have kept loads of other important documentation, like said passport, marriage license, name change decree, etc., but to adopt a baby, they insist on a birth certificate specifically. I mean come on, if I wasn’t born, would we talking right now? It’s common sense really. And I would argue that when you are pregnant and go to deliver a baby, the hospital doesn’t check your papers first.
But I digress. I made one last ditch effort to find the birth certificate in a storage bin of papers and journals I kept from college. No luck on the certificate but I did I find this:
I had completely forgotten that in my first semester I took a class that required us to keep a journal. I documented events both big and small from August 23rd to December 3rd, 1995. I had a flare for the dramatic back in those days. Good thing I have outgrown that. (That statement has me considering turing off comments on this post.) And I was totally the kid who said “I don’t have much to write about” then proceeded to fill an entire page of college ruled paper.
Today, I leave you with the closing thoughts of my first journal entry:
College is weird. Whoever said that freshman year was the best, spent it sleeping.