Dear diary, I haven’t made an entry in a while. I suppose it’s because I don’t see the point. I’m 37. Why does a 37 year old woman need a diary. A 37-year old woman is supposed to have a journal. Diaries are for little girls. Besides, writing in a diary is like speaking to yourself and telling yourself everything you already know. Your mind is far more secure than a diary. You can lose your diary. You can lose your mind too, come to think of it, but it’s still a safer place to store your thoughts, except, sometimes you forget things. That’s where a diary is better than a mind I suppose, because, assuming you haven’t lost your diary, you can go back and read about things your mind has forgotten.
So what’s the point of this? There isn’t one really. I’m still in the same rut, still after the ambition to become a rich woman by making millions of dollars come out of nothing. I suppose it’s high time I realized I’m trying to be some kind of magician. You can’t make millions come out of nothing. For nothing you get exactly what I’m getting every day. You get pennies.
Image: Dear Diary 21/10/06 by kiwanja via Flickr