The box from storage is full of old notebooks, both from high school and from college in Arizona. I pull out a few to look at them, and this one in particular is full of scribblings that look like a serial killer wrote it.
I’m super proud of the fact that I am not overwhelmed by nostalgia, but this one looks like what depression feels like.
I put the books back in the box and shove the box back up in the storage space.
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