The diary vs blog debate: a choice between two variations of the same low-cost self-indulgant therapy. Of course, the virtual journal is shinier, sleeker, more succinct. With a brush of the backspace a myriad of spelling errors, mismatched adjectives, unnecessary subclauses are smoothed out. The word unnecessary doesn't need to be scrawled in an indiscernible thread of c's and s's so that any future reader might give me the benefit of the doubt. But at the same time the tap-tap of the keyboard seems a barrier to naked honesty,,, No longer a torrent of consciousness in a stream of ink.
It's fun though.
I've had my diary stolen so many times: cringing outside a locked bathroom door while my mate smothers delighted giggles on the other side; chasing my devious boyfriend around the village shop before locating the book-shaped bulge down his jeans and reaching in to get it regardless of stares from spectating locals.
So here you are. You want to know what I'm thinking/slash/cringe-worthily over-thinking? What I'm plotting and wishing and remembering and discovering about myself?
It will, no doubt, massively reduce your desire to know. Your delight lies mostly in my deliciously frantic, squirming panic at the idea of you getting your hands on my un-cool-censored inner voice.
Language is a tool, used to express whatever aspects of yourself you think are most interesting. It's not transparent. Nor is every word hung with meaning, as our P.E.E happy English teachers will have us think. It can simply be a load of nice sounding crap which makes us feel better.
Going to bed. I'l write soon,,,
