Do I really want to do this?

As a youngster I read the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, and was inspired to begin documenting my own life. I was very dedicated about it for the first few years and managed to fill a few volumes with my childish ramblings.

Years passed, priorities changed and I forgot about the diary I had so dutifully updated.

Not long ago, my first serious girlfriend moved in with me. And, as live-in girlfriends are wont to do, she undertook to reorganise my living space, removing clutter and replacing it with candles and pretty little boxes too small to put anything in.

In her efforts, she uncovered a pile of books I instantly recognised and snatched away from her, lest she should be exposed to the many hidden truths contained therein. I stowed them for later, solitary perusal.

Once alone, I cracked open the first volume of the books I had spent many hours scribbling in. Immediately I was bombarded with memories of my childhood. The small things that brought me much joy, as well as moments that I had been more keen not to remember.

After some time reading, I came to realise the tone of the writings was not that of the relatively happy childhood I had remembered, but spoutings of a deeply sad and unhappy young person. That disturbed me. Once struck with that realisation, I was unable to continue. I once again hid the books, and forced myself to forget the location. To this day I don't know where they are.

The experience of awakening repressed memories and emotions was traumatic. In itself a memory worth repressing. It was the fear of repeating such an event that has prevented me from climbing onto the blog bandwagon... until now.

Hopefully this will be a more pleasant life-record than the last one.

May the Force be with me!