Why the heck do I write this diary? Why have I written it for over four years?

The answer is pretty simple really. I don't write it to be deep, I don't write it to be pretentious. I don't really write it for other people, though I don't mind them reading it. I don't write it as a game or a competition or for fun, though I do like writing, so why?

Because I am forgetful and I love memories. Pretty simple really. I write in a very prosaic and unremarkable style I think. My writing is not full of cryptic references or obscure URL's, it certainly doesn't contain any code past the most basic HTML. It is simply a day-to-day recount of what happened to me and how I felt about it. I don't think what I write is particularly interesting, and I don't care whether people read it or like it or not. This diary is written for me and me alone, if others choose to follow it I wish them well and hope my crimes against spelling and grammar are none too heinous.
I have no ego to feed, I have no aspirations to be a professional writer, my page serves as a the tip of the ice-berg, a simple front for the unseen mass of writings I have accumulated. I extend a courtesy of condensing my biography elsewhere, but you will search a long time to find any photos because these words are me.

A person is the sum of their memories, here I repose, my distilled essence.

-- Steph