Well: not to burst your bubble, but I hate this diary; it’s soon going right back in the dusty box. It’s mostly travelogue, and anything that does pique my interest turns my stomach.
I’m having a hard time reconciling any profit in regaling you with stories of the walking dead. From this vantage point, zombies aren’t capable of accomplishing anything. Case in point:
—- The Very First Entry (Jan. 1, 1974): “Today our family spent New Year’s at [Person A’s]. [Person B] was a #&*@! That’s the last time [Person C] will ask to go over there. Well, it is a holiday.”
—- Very Last Entry (four years later): [Worse; can’t type it. These were definitely not “glory days.”]
In 1974, I was unhappy with [X]; In 1975, I wasn’t.
In 1976, I was happy with [Y]; In 1977, I wasn’t.
And there were other characters on the periphery. Not good, since I flew predominantly on auto-pilot. If there’s anything I can say to that, it’s… “Thank You, Lord!!!” (Forgive the multiple explanation points; I’ve been seeing a lot of those.)
Most entries revealed the mood of the day; it was either bored, cranky, vulgar snip — or energetic, super-enthusiastic, naïve lassie! Nothing in-between. And we’re not talking year-to-year; this was my teens, Ladies and Gentlemen.
Oh, and it seems I was sick a lot.
On the up-side, gasoline was 57 cents, and postage was 22. And get this entry: “I made a blouse (81 cents).” However, these numbers gain perspective with notes of my earnings from my weekly job cleaning a mansion: I took home less than 6 bucks.
Anyway, in spite of the dreaded dudes, daily dancing, and dumb dope, it was good to be reminded of a few positives: we took turns care-giving for our great-grandma Lillie and great-aunt Viola; and my mother did have my (albeit sassy) help with a variety of activities, including housework, gardening, ironing, even chair-caning. And there was a period during my sophomore year when I was going to church. I had forgotten that.
So yeah: bye-bye bad little book. There’s a reason I put you away for 30 years.