You know what I think? I think starting a diary was the worst possible idea. I know what I’m about, I understand myself. In a few days I’ll forget the key somewhere, or maybe I’ll just decide to stop writing, jealous of my thoughts. Or maybe (this isn’t so implausible) my snoopy mother will pore over the pages, and then I’ll feel stupid and break off my tale.
I really don’t know if it’s such a good thing to unburden myself. At least I’m distracted.