2002-01-21 - 1:22 p.m.
That certainly doesnít sound good. Let us call this ďMy Very First Diary PageĒ instead. Sort of grade-schoolish and innocent instead of all Ďbarely legalí and stuff.
I was in China, on a vacation trip with my husband JohnnyBravo, back in December. This was ultra cool for me since Iíve never been anywhere even remotely that exotic and far away. JohnnyBravo goes to southern China about every month and a half, on business, and he had built up enough miles for me to tag along. It was a really great trip. But one night while I was waiting to meet him for dinner, I did some web surfing on the computer the hotel thoughtfully provided. I stumbled across this really hilarious diary site (leave my pathetic crap and enjoy Pound (http://www.poundy.com/)now) and read like every single archived entry. And since then Iíve gotten all involved reading more great journals. Mad props to: Weetabix,
Rouge, Uncle Bob,
Gwentown, and more.
I donít know. It probably means I have this weird need to live vicariously through others. Or I was dropped as a child and overstimulated some latent portion of my brain dedicated to reading journals, which only recently went into high gear after the bite of a radioactive spider and thenÖ
Iíve always liked writing. I donít really know if Iím any good or not. I can spell OK. See Ė O, K. Hyuk. Iím not all that funny. Obviously. But I am going to post my meager scribbles to the world and see what happens. Maybe Iíll have a good time doing it. Maybe someone will stumble across my own words someday and enjoy reading them. Who knows.
The biggest contributor to all this time on my hands to read journals and think about writing my own: my job, or lack thereof. Iíve been unemployed since July and have far too little to do. And yes I know I should be like volunteering or giving blood or recycling or something, but Iím just a really horrible person, you know? I hate being out of work. Hate it. I hate being the one that has to do the dishes, laundry, clean the house, etc, because hey, itís not like I have something better to do during the day. I hate that our income went from ďsalad daysĒ to ďcollege crunchĒ. I hate hearing any reference to anyone working, ever, because it makes me feel all inferior and useless and shit. I hate that I have all these feelings of self worth tied to something that takes 40 hours out of your week and usually sucks, because what the hell does that mean?
So. Iím calling this journal Sundry Mourning, because thatís what it will probably contain: me bitching about everything under the sun. Diet Coke-fueled and Diaryland-hosted. Practically vitriolic hatred-free.
go back :::
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004