Nostalgia is always a tricky thing for me. It's a fine line between visiting the past through a couple of fond memories and wallowing on your couch, scrapbook in hand, wishing for days and moments and people who are long gone.
I came home tonight from this summer's camp staff banquet, feeling especially nostalgic. I thought about writing a post about my first camp counseling experience from so long ago, but I am fully aware of the line tonight. And with just enough vodka in the freezer to free up both my tears and my dialing finger, I'm going to pass. Vodka and scrapbooks are a recipe for a sniveling disaster.
So maybe tomorrow. But if you get a phonecall in the middle of the night, don't judge. It's just the scrapbook talking.
This speaks more truth to me than you might realize... But on second thought, you would realize it more than anyone.
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