I just went into my daughter’s room and she was writing in a journal. Be still my heart. I asked if she was writing wonderful things about me. No. Anything about me. No. She says she wants to get back to writing everyday. Join the club. Actually I do write every day, but I don’t want to gloat. Is there anyone more obnoxious than a person who loves to declare that she gets up at 5:30 am every day and writes until 10:30. Yes, I can go fuck myself.
What’s in your diary?
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Betsy Lerner 
“What’s in your diary?”
The ghosts that haunt me.
Lately? My epitaph.
No! The prickly looking orb hasn’t slithered under my doormat yet.
But, I am of the age when one begins to assess the value of the choices I have made throughout my life.
I am lucky more than lost.
I want my family to know that.
Back to editing. If not now…when.
Thanks for starting my day with a good laugh. I don’t keep a diary, but I do remember a line from my diary when I was about 10 years old, the only line I remember (and can’t believe I’m telling this here, but hey):
“I was reading about sex today and can’t wait till I mature!” (if I only knew then, haha)
Thanks for the SECOND laugh for me!
Whoa, what was it you read?
might have been my favorite book at the time: What a Boy Should Know about Sex
Glad you asked! Happy to share last week’s favorite journal entry:
“This afternoon, a woman almost drove her car into the side of my SUV because she was distracted from her efforts to manipulate a cigarette past her surgical mask.” (and I claim first dibs to use this detail in a future bit of writing)
Wishing everyone a good weekend!
Haaa! I so laughed out loud at that.
Not one thing is in my diary/journal b/c I don’t keep one – and I think the reason for that is, I have NO idea what to say to myself.
I don‘t write a journal as that since I discovered Bullet Journailing – an entry in week 14: „quarantine time‘s over tomorrow night. I planned to read A LOT and meditate more often these days. What I really did: homeoffice – work takes longer because C. and I have to share the laptop computer, laundry, cook, phonecalls to all my relatives close by and far away.“
I started one at age 13. First real kiss.
Had a job as a carhop. Looked 16 years old. Dysfunctional family. Engaged at 17. He made me burn it in the street. Cried,stopped writing. Very abusive life. NOW I’m writing a memoir. Saved descriptive words on scraps of paper for years. Burning desire to write, someday. Hope to finish it this year. DJ