Thursday, November 18, 2004

I've spent way too much time searching the basement for my old "diary."
It was an awful pastel thing - which I hated.
But some relative gave it to me as a present.
And I felt like I HAD to use it.

On the front page, I crossed out the word "Diary" and wrote "JOURNAL"
('Lest anyone should discover it and think I did something as girly as keep a "diary").

I really don't care much about this 5th grade JOURNAL - but there's one section I want to read.
It's the from The Worst Day of My Life.

The Worst Day of My Life was in 5th grade
(A very difficult year - School was awful, Dear 'ole Dad was off work with health issues, Mother Dear was trying to raise 5 kids, Phil was a baby. Pre-adolesent torment was raging, I was flooded with responsibilities dispoportionate to my age, and life just lacked stability.

The specifics of that day are fuzzy - but I remember making dinner (tuna casserole and biscuts from a can!) Somehow the biscuts exploded out of the can, and fell on the floor. It must have been an awful day because the fallen biscuts pushed me over the edge - I lost it. Screaming. Crying. Yelling. It was bad.

Dear 'ole Dad told me to write down everything that happened and promised that someday laugh about it.
I remember pulling out that putrid pastel JOURNAL and writing down everything - - only because Dear 'old Dad told me too.
I was *SO* angry at him for suggesting that one day it might seem funny to me. It was like he was trivializing my horrible rotten miserable day.

A year or two later, I re-read what I'd written, and found no humor in it. (Dear 'ole Dad was WRONG!)

But I wonder if it'd be funny today (with 16+ years of distance). . . .