The Diary of Nelly Dismal
My 25th year found me living alone in Drumtara, pregnant, poor and lonely. I was also very bored so, to pass the time, I kept a journal. It ran to two volumes and I have to admit it was one of the most tedious, self-obsessed and whiney journals ever written. It didn't contain an ounce of humour or interest and every time I've looked at those two notebooks since I have cringed.
So why did it take me more than three decades to rid myself of these woeful books ?
Today, during an epic attic clearance, I decided the time had come to burn the dreary things and the only place in the house with a burning fire is in Pearlie's room.
What's that ye have there?Just some old diaries.What! Reach them to me!They're not yours Pearlie. They're mine. Just some old diaries I kept when I was in my 20s.
Setting them carefully on the fire.
I'd love to read those!You would not.
Piling the coal around them.
I'd have been very interested in those.I bet you would.
I felt a tiny bit guilty depriving Pearlie of the pleasure of finding out what a shallow twat I was when I was 24 but very, very happy to be rid of the reminder. Thanks be for the cleansing power of flames.
I had a diary when I was a teenager. Wrote the usual teenage nonsense in it, full of wild fury it was... My mother found it, broke the lock and read it. Never was forgiven for those words. Never another personal diary for me.
ReplyDeleteA journal one troubling summer in cowcamp, but nothing written of the true angst of that time. Lesson learned.
A friend told me recently that her father read her diary. I have to confess I read my sister's but when it came to my children I never would, because I genuinely did not want to know! I still find it hard to understand that some parents would go there.
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