Four Hundred
I could never motivate myself to write a diary. I’d start in January, a little late, never on the 1st. I might backdate a few entries. And then I’d stop after a week or so. Maybe because there was nothing interesting to write. Nothing interesting happens anyway, and even less happens in early January. Maybe it had yet to hardwire itself into my routine. What I wrote was dull, or self-absorbed, or embarrassing. Who would want to read it? Who would read it? Was I just going to leave my diary hanging around, or was I planning on there being some sort of posthumous release after a long and yet-to-be-decided career? Read the rest of this entry »