Its a very wierd job

Day three of my job- shifting through a womans old journals,it brings up wierd emotions. Sometimes reading them im on the verge of tears. It reads like fiction- but its real and viciously honest.

Reading her life makes me think about my own.

Reading her death makes me think of my own

I feel young with her journals, like a kid, She had a full life and now at 22, im trying to understand whats its like to be a 48 year old lesbian with two kids and breast cancer. I feel like im reading...well i dont even know. There is nothing to compare it with. Its eerie- i see pics of her and on the tip of her glasses i see her eyes peering out at me. I wonder if she knows that of all people, this young student is in charge of putting her papers in order. I wonder if shes watching me...

And i wheel her boxes back into the cold room. My New Orleans boss likes to call it the room of spirits. She jokes that she likes to blast her music and dance with the spirits. Walls of boxes from old Spelman students who have died. Their records, pics and other things in alphabetical order. Birthdates ranging from 1867-1974. One day my box will sit up there. What was life for woman in 1881? I want to know. Thats why i took this job.

I've never had a job that has made me think so much- challange me, not in the work sense, but emotionally. Its really exciting- its really scary.