I promised myself I would never stoop to starting one of these damn things. As a kid, I had an obsession with unfinished diaries. I would see one at a book store, ooh and ahh over the thing. I would buy it. I would keep it for a week, tops. Then I would throw it in my bedroom closet to be forgotten until sometime in the next decade when I bothered to clean my room. There I would find it rotting with a dozen other journals, diaries, and notebooks chock full of the same old whiny crap kids write when they're in the mood to write instead of burning their retinas watching hours of television. And boy was I ever an angsty little punk! If you're good(and I get drunk or stupid)I might post a few excerpts from my embarrassing past.
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| "Dear Diary, I have a white girl afro perm now...sigh." |
Chances are, this blog will be just as whiny. The only difference between a sixteen year old Karma Girl and a twenty-year old Karma Girl is that instead of bitching about school, acne, and the "incredible pain of being" she will be bitching about work, her sagging ass, and the "incredible pain of being annoyed". Be prepared.
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