Last night, as I began to clear out our office, I started to put my old journals away in a box. (I’ve given DH and myself each a 10 gallon box that we can put all our treasures, etc in. Once it’s full, everything else has to go. I know, it’s mean, but otherwise, everything can technically be sentimental, right? This does not include OUR box – which has a bunch of our stuff from when we were dating, etc.)

Anyhow, I purposely sought out my last two years of college and the journals leading up to my breaking up with my ex and dating DH. It was surreal. I couldn’t believe who I was – just how sad, depressed and burdened by trying to be what I thought I should be vs. being who I really was. It made me sad.

Of course, this always spurs thoughts of, “If I knew back then what I knew now, what would my life be like?” And then, of course, I would go through a round of “OMG, those experiences shaped me into who I am now and if I were me then – then I wouldn’t end up with DH and DS and DD and I can’t bear to think about that.”

Yes, I get mired in the details of time travel even in my fantasy life. I get it. I read too much speculative fiction. If it helps, I also get mired in the details when fantasizing about becoming rich and famous (eg: forming a corporation for my celebrity, fully funding 401ks, how much money to save and keep and donate, etc. without changing into a horrible person). It tends to cut short and ruin most fantasies. I know. It’s the financial advisor side of me coming out. *sigh*

Anyhow, there is no way to go back into the past. But it’s fun every now and then to indulge myself (that is, until I get in my own way) and think about what might have been. Of course, I am always more awesome than I think I actually would be. But it’s MY fantasy, right?