37 Notebooks Filled Since I was Twelve in 1984
I was rummaging around in my old bedroom at my parents’ house when I stumbled across the very first diary I kept when I was 12 year old.
Jackpot. Unfiltered access to my 12 year old psyche. Drool was ran down my chin, dripped onto the blue vinyl cover with the conveniently broken lock.
Alas, I’d finally be able to trace these writing roots that I have.
As I held the diary, I thought that maybe I would discover, at the tender age of 12, that I was a wordsmith, that I had ideas. Big ideas.
I opened it and started reading…
January 4th
Dear Diary,
I came home from my grandma’s farm, ate and went to my friend Heidi’s for a sleepover. We talked about our boyfriends hers is David Shakewich. We even cried because Heidi’s in a fight with David and I’m not sure Kirk still loves me.
January 6th
Today is Ukrainian Christmas. We had 12 dishes. I opened my presents. I got $1.00, a sweater, a curling iron and Cabage Patch clothes. I’m going to watch Gimme A Break now.
January 10th
Nothing good happened today. I’m pretty down because Kirk is still sick and hasn’t been at school all week. My teacher Mr. Hampton grew and beard. He looks like a wearwolf.
January 14th
You’ll never guess what happened. My teacher read another one of my notes to the class. It was so embarrassing. I won’t be writing to you until February.
February 4th
You’ll never guess what happened today. This kid Randy’s got a crush on me and asked me if I’d go out with him. I still like Kirk. He said if Kirk said he hated me, then would I go out with him. I said I doubt it. But he paid Kirk to say that he hated me anyway. So I’m mad at Kirk for taking the dollar, he told me he could use the money. As for Randy he treats me like a queen (I could take advantage of the situation, but I wouldn’t dare.)
This might be the biggest piece of shit I’ve EVER read. There’s no insight here.
I was no Anne Frank. Not only did I not have any good ideas; actually, I seem a little on the daft side. My interests don’t seem to extend beyond shopping, boys and cabbage patch dolls.
My love for obsession with Kirk McManus ran deep. In fact, this boy Kirk may have really impeded my future. He is obviously distracting me from my larger purpose at that time – writing novels.
I write for half of January, skip to February, skip to August, when apparently someone else takes over the writing of the diary, altogether. So, maybe I have learned something about myself: my writing habits are sporadic and I’m easily distracted (obviously by Kirk McManus). This is pretty much sums up how I write today. Except Merlot is the new Kirk McManus.
Even if this diary isn't a glimpse into unadulterated brilliance, it was the start of something pretty damn special. Since 1984 I've filled 37 notebooks (that I can find). I haven't opened any of the others yet; I don't have nearly enough wine. But here's a photo of them! In the meantime if anyone needs any reading material, give me a shout!
