Transcription

1. I stopped writing my diary when I moved in with him. I began the journal in third grade, and did not miss a day in nearly eleven years. But as we became closer he became my journal. I could tell him anything I wanted, and write on his body with my hands. At first this caused an explosion of creativity to echo through the rest of my life. Then I started telling him too much. To make a long story short, immediately after moving in with him, I knew I had to get away. Yet it still took two years. Looking back at the sporadic diary entries from that time, I was completely pissed off at him and at myself. It was not a good situation.

2. When I finally did move out, I began an electronic journal. I tell myself this is because I have no more room to lug around traditional volumes... already my collection takes up two mid-sized shipping containers and will probably cost $50 to mail across the country by media rate. Computer files are more portable than blank books, but that only masks their real usefulness. I have to force myself to write now - turning on my computer with good intentions, ending up with nothing.

3. My blog used to be a weekly chronicle of my fabulous life. Even when things weren't so fabulous, I would use it to keep myself focused on better things. My scattered family liked it, old classmates, random acquaintances and a few people I never met but felt connected to when their country's flag popped up on my statcounter screen. But we all know things change. I stopped writing my blog because I cannot face even that small portion of myself. Also, I know that my top two readers are my ex and the person who is a likely candidate to replace my ex. This is where things disintegrate....