In search of the perfect Throwback Thursday post for this week, I happened upon a fascinating little book called…my first diary.
I was 10 when I started writing in it.
Classy right? I mean, nothing screams “Miss Havisham: The Early Years” like brocade fabric and a floral arrangement. Add some dust to the bears and I’m set.
No, seriously. If y’all catch me wandering the blogosphere in my wedding dress, wearing only one shoe…somebody better speak the fuck up!
Look at the lock on this thing?! I picked it with a bobbypin.
Who, exactly, is this going to keep out?
I guess it’s a good thing I at least hid the book somewhere safe because otherwise the kids on the playground might have decrypted my code names for the boys in our class.
“I’m sort of calling the boys names like tweeter butt, piddle skiddle, flem wad, emo ponco, tonto, estupedo,…”
I vote here and now we bring piddle skiddle and tweeter butt back!
*begins painting picket signs – Long Live Tweeter Butt! Piddle Skiddle is my Homie!”
Here’s another glistening dewdrop of an entry from my 10 year old self:
I decided I don’t want a boyfriend. I can wait.
I’m in a reading program!! It is fun.
I’m on break for piano lessons. I’m glad.
I’m not mad at anyone. That’s good, huh.
I have 3 penpals: Andrea, Jessica, and Katie. Their (yes, I know it should be ‘They’re’) from PA, WA, and WI.
Ok. Let’s just ponder this post shall we?
I think, rather I KNOW, my favorite part is “I’m not mad at anyone. That’s good, huh.”
In true form, I used my diary as a venting tool, and I’m betting I’m not the only one who did so. Therefore, the majority of its pages are filled with angry content about how mean all my siblings are and what backstabbers my best friends are.
Can someone say redheaded temper???
I can graciously say that I no longer fill my diary’s pages with name calling and hate letters. I’ve grown up since then. But there’s something to be said for the way a child gets things off her/his chest and moves on. They fume for the length of a page and then they wonder what’s for dinner. As adults, we don’t always heal so easily. As funny as these diary entries are, they are also a good reminder not to dwell on the negative things in life, but to move forward and enjoy the positive. Like reading programs. 😉
Did you ever keep a diary?
What shocking things did you scribble on its pages?
Do you journal now? What do you like/dislike about it?