Dear Diary

I often think of diaries in a very romanticized, rose petals and herbal tea on the verandah kind of way. I imagine them to be a sort of sacred literary tome, where the truths of life and society were recorded in beautiful and gentile handwriting and kept under lock and key.

Maybe that explains why as I sit here in an oversized sweatshirt, pajama pants and heavy socks (it's cold here) and contemplate the events of my day, which included spending $13 on an Owl Puke Christmas Present, transposing a seventeenth century Italian Kanzonette, and spending an hour in remedial sixth grade social studies learning the five themes of geography (I didn't even know they HAD themes), it's clear that I'm not a rose petal and herbal tea kind of gal. Maybe my verandah is covered with snow, but I'm thankful I have the Internets to keep me warm.