Well. Hello. ♡
As it has been a year and an age since I last wrote in an Open Diary, I feel a peculiar uneasiness in writing in something I cannot hold and lock, using tiny faux-silver keys in to a padlock smaller than my thumb. The short and short of that arduously long sentence, there, that you can gather thus far, is this: 1) it feels a bit weird to write in a diary I cannot physically close, and 2) the last diary I wrote in is, undoubtedly, for 12-year-olds.
I find great joy, however, in how my entries can go well past 90 pages (days), and how I’ll be spared of the aggravation of having a pen run out of ink at a critical moment of life-recording–all the more, as I may have put it an eon ago, “ghfdkjsfa;ds!!!11”-ier in the midst of trying to recall a memory sunken way too deep in the high seas of a mind too full of… what’s a nautical term for ‘junk?’… I’ll leave this half-metaphor as is.
Anyway, despite the fact that I am already four months into it, this diary will follow the days of a graduate student going through her Creative Writing masters degree program. As it mostly involves reading books ’til my eyes blur and can no longer make out words out of the little symbols on a page or a tablet screen, and writing until my brain surely must have one long crack going down the middle and still in need of a nutcracker to smash out little nuggets of ideas for how to continue the detective novel I’m working on–
You might find my daily doings some kind of boring.
But, just as I do with my creative and academic writing, I will do my utmost to render each entry thrilling in its mediocrity– inspiring readers to gawk with wide eyes at the details of backyard-gardening adventures, to dip their toes into my despair when the second most terrifying plague (after coronavirus) infects my system–writer’s block–and, above all, to be affected and inspired, if not simply amused, by my weighty love for the loftiest of things.