Let's just try again

As a child I was fascinated with the idea of writing and keeping a diary. I had sentimental daydreams that if I was ever killed in some fantastical blaze of tragedy that a lingering comfort to my family and friends would be poring over the words of wisdom found in my diary. They would giggle at my witty use of humor and clever words of prose, muse over the insightful profundities of a 12 year old mind, and weep for the dreams unfinished and unmet. Maybe I'd be the next Anne Frank! without the whole hiding from Nazi Germany thing, of course--there were limits to the tragedies I was willing to daydream about.

Of course, the crashing reality to this daydream was that for every diary that I started (here's where you say, "If I had a dollar for every diary that I started....") You get the picture. Even at age 12, complete thoughts seemed to never make it into written form.

But getting a new diary was so fresh--a clean paged journal to pour out your thoughts upon. And this was before daytime talk show hosts made journaling "cool", before it was considered necessary for spiritual and emotional intelligence to daily write the five things that you are grateful for having occurred. The routine looked something like this:

Day one entry: Dear new diary, how glad I am I have you to tell everything to, you will be the only one who really understands me. This is who I am (followed by short introduction), and see you tomorrow.

Day two entry: Dear diary, I went to the pool today. Anne and Jennifer were there. Mark was the lifeguard--isn't he cute? Ate cheetos at lunch. See you tomorrow.

Day three entry: Dear Diary, I didn't get to go to the pool today. I'm mad at my sister. She borrowed my red leggings without asking me first. We're having tacos for dinner. See you tomorrow.

Day four entry: Dear Diary, well it's been 4 months since I last wrote. Let me tell you what's been happening.

Eventually even I was bored to tears, along with the diary, on what was happening in my life and I would just quit writing. Until of course I was in the Hallmark store with my mom and would see the latest batch of diaries with the cute little gold keys, that I'm told will actually open all major suitcase brands as well, and I would beg her for a new one. And the routine would start again.

My greatest fear with this blog is not that I will be involved in some major skeezscandal of blogvillia, not that I won't even have complete thoughts--my day will come won't it, huh, huh?--not even that I won't learn how to attach all the cute links and photos (although that still really bugs me), but instead that I will have the Diary routine replayed and this time with higher technology involved.

So, if there is anyone reading these thoughts, I've not forgotten this blog. I've even had some complete thoughts. But I am also trying to ed-u-ma-cate myself on blogging and at the end of the day I still only have 24 hours--go figure. Getting past the paralysis of needing things perfectomundo is the next step to hurdle--and a post in itself on why I cannot, cannot hop on the scrapbooking wagon without breaking into a cold sweat. Just write one complete thought a day, I chant. That old ditty of moms all around "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" is where I'm at today--just trying again.

Thanks for sticking around.