...except when death lurks below the attic.
I could never wrap my brain around the concept of a diary. What is one supposed to write in one? When I was in the Navy, I had to "log" things in a log book every day:
0500 Properly assumed the watch...
0530 Set wind warning from 0700 to 1200...
I think people write diaries the way military sailors write logbook entries. They may explain what they had for breakfast; what they wore and how they mended a hole with thread and needle, but the thread was a slightly lighter pink then the dress, but the hole was under the arm and no one would know. Or would they?
I have usually found that sort of repititous regeritation to be dull, yet, now that I am older, plumper, pimplier, and have stretch marks, I bet I would love to go back and read a line-by-line day in the life of a former, more younger me. What did I wear? How'd I do my hair?
I'm not like that, though. I'm contextual. If I had been Ann Frank, people would be less wise about her situation. They would get a general idea; perhaps a more editorialized version of the goings on. They'd know what she was wondering, but nothing much else.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Put your two cents here.