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2002-01-21 - 1:22 p.m.
Virgin entry. That certainly doesn�t sound good. Let us call this �My Very First Diary Page� instead. Sort of grade-schoolish and innocent instead of all �barely legal� and stuff. Anyway. I was in China, on a vacation trip with my husband JohnnyBravo, back in December. This was ultra cool for me since I�ve 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 I�ve gotten all involved reading more great journals. Mad props to: Weetabix,
Jessamyn,
Regina
Rouge, Uncle Bob,
Gwentown, and more. I don�t 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 then� I�ve always liked writing. I don�t really know if I�m any good or not. I can spell OK. See � O, K. Hyuk. I�m not all that funny. Obviously. But I am going to post my meager scribbles to the world and see what happens. Maybe I�ll 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. I�ve 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 I�m 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, it�s not like I have something better to do during the day. I hate that our income went from �salad days� to �college crunch�. 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. I�m calling this journal Sundry Mourning, because that�s what it will probably contain: me bitching about everything under the sun. Diet Coke-fueled and Diaryland-hosted. Practically vitriolic hatred-free. go back :::
forward
2
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
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