Dear Diary, Day 2: On Purpose

Hi Diary,

I am back!

Did ya think I wouldn't be back? Just kidding, Diary, I know you wouldn't do me like that. At least, I hope not if I am going to be sharing my secrets and personal struggles with you.

I wonder, though, how many diaries remain empty after the first entry? 

I bet there are a lot. I have encountered a few in the archives.

There is no worse feeling as a historian than cracking open the cover of a diary and—piff—empty, nothing but dusty, brittle leaves of lined notebook paper, yellow and crumbling at the corners.

Why does someone leave a diary blank? It’s like too bad they didn't leave some sort of written record which would provide some insight into their malaise.

I wonder, did fears of a judgy diary ever stop someone from writing? We will never know, 'cause no one would admit out loud they thought their diary was judgy. I mean, that is the kind of embarrassing nonsense best buried in the yellow, crumbly pages of a diary. 

A dairy-to-diary paradox!

Maybe it is a commitment issue? The diary entry is a task easy to push aside and sacrifice for other priorities. Then after missing a few days what's the point? But then, does that mean anyone who writes in a diary has nothing going on? Think of it, those who recorded diaries were the most boring people in that historical period.

Does that makes me one of the boring ones... gosh, that's rough.

At least I get it now. Its emotional vulnerability. At the end of the day, it is way too hard to re-live the daily traumas and microaggressions eroding what is left of our shredded confidence and fractured egos. I mean, I'm only on my second entry, and I have already realized I am boring. I can't say I am looking forward to what entry no. ten has in store.

So what is a diary anyway? Websters defines a diary as...

...gotcha! 

Haha 

I bet any English professor or graduate student who had to teach English 1010 just felt their blood pressure rise for a split second. This isn't good 'cause, most likely, they are already seeing red due to my cruddy grammar and terrible sentence structure.

But that is the cool thing about the diary. Grammar doesn't matter; spelling wouldn't either, but the computer helps with that easy enough.  

Anyway, I don't think there’s a purpose of the diary unless it’s to express oneself openly, honestly, and authentically. No matter the approach, style, errors, or content, I imagine deeper truths and thoughts leak onto the page of the diary regardless, so long as we don’t fight the process.

Expressive expression is the beauty and magic of writing.

Haha, embrace the chaotic chaos of lazy writing.

It is liberating.

For me, a diary entry is equivalent to Calvinball. Calvinball is a game invented by the six-year-old Calvin and his pal Hobbes the tiger where the only rule is that rules can never be repeated.

Every game is a new game, just like every entry is a new entry. And every day is a new day where I am a new Aspen and you get to be a new you.

The only difference is Clavin and Hobbes wear masks during Calvinball for some reason.

And I don't wear a mask anymore. I wore one for far too long. Oh and I don’t mean like a N95 mask. I still where those when appropriate. I meant more of a metaphysical mask regarding identity and self. Okay, this is starting to spiral and, shoot, what happened to the time?

I meant to reflect more on the thesis. I guess that will be for another day. I gotta go to bed…

This entry was fun; I regret nothing.

Thanks for listening!

More to come if the stars are aligned