I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.
– Gwendolen Fairfax, “The Importance of Being Earnest” (Oscar Wilde)
Blog
I’ve been keeping journals since I learned how to write. My first journals were spiral-bound notebooks, filled with crayon scrawls and stick-figure drawings and the occasional wad of gum. I soon moved on to blank books and velvet-bound journals, which were all way too pretty to hold my profane scribblings. Then I went through my secretive phase, where I kept a secret journal full of secrets on a secret floppy disk that was hidden in a secret place which was so secret even I couldn’t find it. As far as I know, that disk is still somewhere in my old bedroom. Now, I keep my journal here—not so much from exhibitionism as from laziness, because it’s easier to type an entry than it is to write it out by hand. (But that still doesn’t explain why I publish it, does it?...)
Latest Entry
12.21.07: And Then There Were Three
My little Widget is dead, whom dearer than my eyes I loved.
