Work In ProgressI have kept a diary every day of my life since I was ten. They have always gotten me in trouble with nosy parents, lovers and so on.
I have kept most of them; while a lot is whinging and bullsh!t, some things are wonderfully eloquent.
here is an excerpt from February 2007:
"Winter is when you stone yourself down real low, deep in your bed, listening to mellow tunes with pillows over your head.
The snow falls thick outside, muffling exterior noises like the buses and the train. All that can be heard through the fog and the heavy, cottony flakes of falling snow is the a fog horn; every once in while, low & deep almost too deep to be perceived.
You fall asleep for days, in and out of pastel dreams of pleasant rooms and corridors and back again to the womb-like warmth of your bed; to the sound of sound not getting through."
Some day I will take all the lovely bits, and put them all together in one big book.