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I've got this diary. I started it in December 1988. I was 17 and from what I can tell I was a total moron. I've always written diaries to evacuate frustration, or sadness, or anger, or just to record something really funny. Now I have this book that is chocked full of some of the most vulnerable moments in my life. At one level I can't stop laughing at how cheesy I was; and, at the same time, I'm engulfed with horror at the thought of my husband or son reading it. What do I do? I know the only way to have peace of mind is to destroy it. But it's a part of me. I don't have a good memory and when I read it it's as if I'm in those places again. I'm back in that same skin. I wrote so vividly (much to my shame) that I can almost see the actual people in front of me. I figure that I have three options :
Burn it
Rewrite it
Find a hole in the house somewhere.
You decide.
I've got this diary. I started it in December 1988. I was 17 and from what I can tell I was a total moron. I've always written diaries to evacuate frustration, or sadness, or anger, or just to record something really funny. Now I have this book that is chocked full of some of the most vulnerable moments in my life. At one level I can't stop laughing at how cheesy I was; and, at the same time, I'm engulfed with horror at the thought of my husband or son reading it. What do I do? I know the only way to have peace of mind is to destroy it. But it's a part of me. I don't have a good memory and when I read it it's as if I'm in those places again. I'm back in that same skin. I wrote so vividly (much to my shame) that I can almost see the actual people in front of me. I figure that I have three options :
Burn it
Rewrite it
Find a hole in the house somewhere.
You decide.
posted by Cassandra at 11:32 PM
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