Sarah started up a journal again. Not a diary; not those odd books she kept during puberty when life was full of mysteries, marvels, and angst almost every day. This was going to be a journal of perceptions. She liked the word annotations, so she titled her book Annotations On Life. (Perceptions Of a Wonderer was her second choice … a playful use of words.)
Parts of her book would be filled with observations. Some of them superficial, of course, because time at her bank job did not allow her to dig deep. Other parts of her journal would be collections of thoughts and life lessons. She could barely wait to grow old so she could read her story.
She wondered if she would have children someday. A child, at least, to share her book with, a legacy to live on when her life’s story had reached its end.