Tuesday, January 1, 2013

bloggy folly

When I was a young lady, I had a small group of girl friends. They listened to Bon Jovi and New Kids on the Block. They had posters of horses and knew how to make friendship bracelets. They had nail polish and crushes on boys. They also had diaries.

The diaries would be carefully selected from the Hallmark store, because (by some magic that was suburban pre teen life) this was the only place to get it. They'd check the brass locks, test the properties of the binding, and only be content of there was a matching pen.

All of this was completely alien to me, of course. I listened to Giorgio Moroder, Beethoven and The Cure. I had posters of random stuff because all my room decor was from the thrift store. I didn't learn how to make a friendship bracelet until high school. And let's not even go into my long standing mistrust of nail polish. Nor will I review my crushes as they varied and often included trees. But the diary concept fascinated me.

I purchased my first diary from Hallmark (as was predetermined) and failed to utilize it. There were many attempts and many new diaries purchased The unfortunate truth is I was never able to keep a handwritten journal for more than a week.

So this will be another attempt. Tune in and see if I epically fail yet again.

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