I don’t remember my first diary. I remember having one that was red and had sort of a smooshy fake-leather cover and gilt-edged pages and a lock with an impossibly tiny key, but I don’t know if that was actually the first.

I do know that until I started blogging, I was the world’s worst diarist. I’d start them, write a few pages, and then end up doodling in them, or writing short stories. I didn’t write down my deepest secrets because I didn’t really HAVE that many secrets. I mean, even when I was little, “Dear Diary, I had an extra cookie at lunch today, and Brad Gillespie is kind of cute,” seemed like a stupid thing to write down.

I have strong memories of reading about journals and diaries. Probably the most famous was Anne Frank – The Diary of a Young Girl – which I devoured. Looking back, I think part of what made it so special is that Anne treated Kitty (the diary) as if she was a person, not just a book full of empty pages.

I have never named a diary.
But I did once write a series of letters to Pavel Chekov (the character) from TOS, as if time travel was possible and we’d met. Hey, I was eleven. We all do stupid things when we’re eleven. At least mine were just pages in a book, and not actual, you know, LETTERS. (Of course, now if I did such a thing, I’d call it fanfic and there’d be no embarrassment.)

I like pen and ink, and there are times when in order to get a passage “right” I have to actually write it, but I don’t generally use a journal for stuff like that. I use a moleskine, or I use a plain old spiral notebook. I really like those. Especially when they have green lines and are college ruled.

I still don’t keep a diary as a diary. I have this amazing book that a friend gave me, and I don’t use it as a diary, but as one of my “magic notebooks” – part commonplace, part collection of quotes, part fragments of stories, or notes. To me, a diary implies structure, and my notebooks have none. I lead a rather unordered life.

(Hey, that’d be a great domain name. Unordered Life DOT Com. Wonder if it’s available…)

See what I mean about distractions?

It’s been almost a year since I left the world of real estate finance, and today the subject of whether I have any regrets came up not once, but twice.

First, one of my oldest friends called from Arizona to wish me a happy birthday, and we were talking about what I’m doing now. “A year ago,” I told him, “I was coming home in tears every night, not writing anything, and my dogs barely knew who I was. Now, I’m not making as much, but I’m really happy.”

He told me that he was really glad he’d chosen to leave is position at a major university and concentrate on spending time with his two-year-old son, and finally finish the dissertation he began in 1999. (I really wish he and his family lived closer. His wife is smart, funny, and snarky, and I’d love to get to know her better than I do.)

Then, in the car, Fuzzy asked if I’d heard about a certain major lender that is in serious financial trouble.

I looked at him and said, “You know, I really respect my Realtor and Mortgage Broker friends, but I think I left the industry at the right time.”

It’s strangely appropriate that these two conversations came up at the same time as my “almost anniversary” of leaving.

It’s 12:39 AM on Saturday the 18th of August.

Thank you to all who visited, shared favorite birthdays, and left sweet comments. If I haven’t returned your visit yet, don’t worry; I will before the weekend is over. My personal celebration goes on through Sunday, with the agenda tomorrow including a mani/pedi and brow shaping appointment, followed by miniature golf and sushi, and breakfast with a good friend on Sunday morning.

I now pass the birthday torch to Sky and Michele, who are also celebrating their birthdays this weekend, as well as to my troupemates Evan and Jeremy. Who knew this weekend saw the birth of so many Leos. Isn’t it grand?

Fuzzy and I just got back from Stardust at the Studio Movie Grill, where I had fries for the first time in a month. They were good, but first I was wired, and now I’m crashing, from that much grease, and that many carbs. Tomorrow, I will be back on healthy food, but for a slice of cake, and possibly an iced mocha. The movie was exactly what I’d hoped, a somewhat frothy, but still completely engaging, fairy tale. I enjoyed the book. I enjoyed the movie. I had fun.

And now, I have to stay up just long enough to change laundry loads so that my sweet husband has pants to wear tomorrow, and then it’s dreamtime for me.

G’night, all.