April 3^rd  – 1:15 P.M

I have decided to keep a journal of sorts. Perhaps more of a collection of notes and scribbles for myself to keep track of things – honestly, I’m not entirely sure what brought on this decision. Perhaps I’ve just been in a good mood lately. Perhaps I just felt like talking to someone or, I suppose something. Anyway, I guess this is hello, you may call me … well, you can call me B. I never did like my original name.

 Leslie … Grant

Feels weird saying that in the mirror looking at myself. Anyway, B sounds kind of like a name, I guess. I do have a sister, something like 7 or 9 years younger than myself though that’s not saying much I suppose since I hardly recall my own age half the time. I think my parents were a little disappointed that they had used the name Leslie on me and couldn’t think of another L-name that they liked so they settled for … I actually can’t remember … I think it started with the letter ‘S’. It was a lovely name though.

Never really liked the whole idea of names, someone else coming in and choosing your ‘identifier’? I mean I know you can change it and all but still. I feel like a name should mean something to the person holding it, but I suppose that begs the question what does ‘B’ mean for me? I don’t really know if I can say. I suppose in some ways I don’t really see myself as a person, and I was the second in my family. Second letter of the alphabet? Eh, that’s good enough – let’s move on to other things.

I live on my own now, a decent sized apartment in a nearby city from where I grew up, a city named Redspring. The city is alright I guess, a sprawling mess of a concrete jungle all set under what feels to be an ever-present blanket of grey clouds. It feels dreary, but that just seems to be the way all places are nowadays. If there’s anything that I don’t like about the city, it’s the crowds. It just feels like we’re all crammed in here together, living in small, cloistered spaces that make up the towering trees of this grey jungle. I can’t really complain though. I have my apartment, a place where I can just be, a place of comfort I can call my own even if the walls elsewhere seem to close in and grow smaller.

Besides, my apartment isn’t too small. From what I understand it’s a pretty average size sitting at around 850 sq. feet.  Coming in from the front door I am introduced to a small kitchen area in front of me and a living space to the left. A short corridor from the living space extends further back eventually branching into three separate rooms: the only bathroom of the apartment and two bedrooms. The spare room used to be occupied by someone years ago. Things happened, they wanted to ‘move forward’ or something of the sort and I couldn’t … well I suppose I wasn’t ready to go with them. This is my space; it feels like my life has been lived here and it’s where I feel comfortable. I’ve kinda just let the spare room sit by itself since, I haven’t bothered looking to get someone else to occupy it and thankfully, no one has asked.

I suppose I don’t really live in a popular area, at least for people my age. I think the lady living to my left is probably in her 60’s, I see her occasionally in the hall. I like her, she isn’t very intrusive and seems alright not engaging in small talk – which is perfectly fine with me. On my right I am not entirely sure. I think I have seen an old couple walk in and out of the apartment on occasion, but it’s happened so infrequently and the place is so quiet I find myself questioning if anyone really lives there as I write this.

Well, I’ll let you know.

Strange, I have been mulling about the name of the person who used to live with me, but I can’t remember just the same with my sister. Though a feeling in my gut tells me it started with an ‘S’ as well. Small world, I suppose. Perhaps it will come to me later, I just need to not think about it.

Ah, I suppose I should date these notes in some fashion. Make them a bit easier to categorize if I ever feel like coming back. The calendar says its August 26^th, but it doesn’t seem right to do that to this journal, this is my first entry after all, it should be a happy one. Perhaps I’m just being too picky, but I’ve never liked autumn and definitely not winter – the darker dreary, cold parts of the year. I wouldn’t say that I like them per se, but I’ve always found myself drawn towards spring and summer – more so spring. I suppose they just feel sunnier and brighter – I guess happier for lack of a better word. Perhaps it would be a better idea to date these entries based off that than actual time – not that I’d remember the actual time anyway. If I want to come back to these, I probably want to quickly find the brighter ones. Outside the clouds look heavy with rain, like they’re struggling not to simply burst and let forth that comforting sound of tears tapping on my windows and walls.

I think I’m going to date this entry as a spring entry, symbolic a bit I think, and I’d like to keep a touch of joy to it. I think April sounds good, I’m particularly fond of April and the threat of rain from above seems to make it an appropriate choice.

I have good feelings about this journal. As my apartment is a space for my body to rest, so shall these notes and scribbles be a resting place for my mind.

B, out.          

That was weird, let’s not do that again.