When I was a kid, I had a diary.
Red, faux-leather, with a golden lock to ostensibly keep people from reading my deepest/darkest.
I could barely write block printing when I got it, but I had somewhere to put all the fascinating 6 yr. old thoughts & occurrences of my life.
“Got up. Got dressed. Had breakfast, but the good cereal was all gone because brother ate it to get the prize.”
“Went to school, and had fun at recess.”
Went to my friend’s house & played Barbies, then Mom said it was time to go home, so rode my bike back.”
Thrilling, riveting stuff.
As I got older, the diary morphed into school notebooks, endless scribbles of horrid poetry & strange bits of stories. I was Emo before it was a thing, minus the dyed hair, stark makeup & cool black clothes.
It was all in the attitude. Down with authority, up with the weird & morbid!
Plus, my mom wouldn’t let me dye my hair, wear Emo makeup, or dress in all black.
authori… yes, Mom, I’ll be down in a second!”
As an adult, I hung onto the notebooks, but I also started using a typewriter to put down my thoughts. Then, a computer.
And then…*cue choirs of angels in Gloria Excelsis*…
Along came the INTERNET.
Every so often, I feel the need to pour out everything. And here, I can do that, in a format that gives me an audience. Maybe a small one, maybe somedays, a nonexistent one. Maybe all the voices in my head gathered together & decided to take up Internet identities in order to placate me, to show me that at least there’s someone out there, reading.
And yes, I vent, I mourn, I share & I rejoice. All in the same place- here, my blog. To some, this may seem to be bi-polar, or mutiple-personalities.
But it’s not. Those disorders are much more complicated than what I go through.
So, if none of these entries seem to “flow” in any discernible order, don’t worry.
This is my life.
Up, down, sideways, twisted.
With moments of random sanity.
I just journal it when the mood strikes.
But as someone once said (don’t ask who, I have no clue)
We all have chapters of our lives we don’t read out loud.
Real is good