dear diary

A story, but first…

Back in the day (which spans the mid 80s to the mid 90s), I kept a journal.  When I was about 11, it was a real deal diary complete with lock and key, where I wrote about goings on in 6th grade and my infatuation with a boy named Allen.  By 8th grade it was John and writing about making friends and losing friends and music. There was always music.  In high school I amassed a collection of journals — sometimes marbled composition notebooks, hard-backed book journals, random notebooks — almost any bound paper would do.  

And in those journals I tucked away every thought, emotion, and experience.  First date, first kiss, first heartbreak.  First love, first dark place, first lies.  There were names named and there were things written in a way that only I knew what I meant.  There were pages of poetry, stream of consciousness, well-thought out plans, drawings, song lyrics, letters never sent, and lots of wishes.   I wrote for the school paper, for the city newspaper, and for myself.  Writing for myself, in my journals was always where I felt most at home, using my voice, where there were no rules.  

It was probably 1994 when I gave up journal writing.  By then I was writing papers on dead authors in college. Nothing quite kills an expressive writer like writing about dead writers.

In 2003, I was a mom of a two-year old and needed to send pictures of the munchkin to family, so instead of doing what a normal woman would do, I started a website.  In 2003 there was no such thing as "mommy bloggers."  I posted pictures of the kid and wrote about my life in Canada, my book club, play dates, and snow.

At some point I made the switch from the website to Blogspot, then to Wordpess, then to Typepad.  And at some point I started posting fewer things about mom life and more about my life.  I suppose that's when the blog turned into my journal, where once again there were no rules.  I cared more about writing and entertaining myself than entertaining my family members, which is when other people started reading. Writing is a great form of communication, an outlet, and a way of life for me.  A lot of you get that.  Maybe you kept journals back in the day too.  

So, friends and interwebs strangers, thanks for being there through a difficult week, when I needed to write to feel a connection.  The Facebook notes have been great.  But seriously, no inspirational quotes, I can't take it.  

If I sound jaded it's only because I am.  And I say that with love.  

Love your guts,

Kerry