I've kept a journal since the sixth grade. No, never a diary, a journal. "Journal" always sounded much more grown-up and worldly than the childish "dairy." It never struck me until now how ironic that is, based on the fact that those first journals were filled with musings about the boys of the week and recounts of play practice. It wasn't until high school that I even owned something that deserved the title journal. How worldly is a green notebook whose cover is falling off? Even then, that leather-bound notebook, that truly did look sophisticated and adult, was filled with ramblings about why I hated my gym teacher and my on-again, off-again "best" friend. In college, my tastes for blank books kicked in right around the time Barnes and Noble came to my neck of the woods. I never filled one, and yet, felt it necessary to buy a new one each year, promising to be better about using it, but failing miserably.
I'm still not sure I have anything terribly interesting to say, however, at least I'm just wasting webspace, as opposed to paper. Besides, I rather miss ranting on and on about the great injustices of the world. At least I see bigger injustices now... could be worse... you could be reading all about how Jeff asked Lisa to dance at the 8th grade dance instead of me, and how my life will never be the same again. ;-)
That said, dive in....
November: 1