An Ode to my Journal

There's nothing more disconcerting than losing ones own journal. It must have happened at Fountain Tire. I had a flat yesterday on my drive back from the mountains-I stopped in Didsbury to get it fixed, while waiting I wrote in my journal at a coffee shop then went back to Fountain Tire. I recall pulling out my journal to write some more-but I never did-I was interrupted, the guy fixing my tire wanted to show me the patch on it...what did I do with my journal from there? I didn't slip it back into my bag, for it's not in there. Did I really set it on the magazine table? Laura, did you really!?

So I've searched high and low but no journal, somebody, somewhere may have read it, may have tossed it out, or maybe it's still sitting there on that magazine table, being perused at intervals by people waiting for their flat tires to be patched. Perhaps on my list of things to do today a drive into Didsbury would be most beneficial...poor little exposed journal.