Eighteen years ago today, I was just getting settled in here for my semester abroad in St. Petersburg, Russia.
I’m transferring old handwritten journal entries into a Word document, which is a cringeworthy experience. Talk about an unreliable narrator!
Have you ever read old journals or letters from an experience you thought you remembered clearly, only to find that time has given you a clearer perspective, and you were no more than an [expletive]?
Because my semester in Russia plays out like a really pathetic version of Anna Karenina without the dramatic train incident.
I call this one Lady with a Swamp Rat on Her Head.