Oh no, here she goes again. As I stretch out my pristine, white-lined pages for nothing more than the lamenting of how fat she feels, how great this guy is, and that guy isn’t; how mad she is at this nasty girl or that mean teacher.

I have dreams too, you know. I have always aspired to be the beginning of a great novel. I want to be a biography about Gandhi. I want to be special.  Not just another diary in another notebook by another girl who has no further ambition than to write down whatever whimsical thoughts (in no sensible order, I might add), on another meaningless day.

Well, today, at last, there is something positive on my pages. An “A” in creative writing.  What? You’re kidding me, right? There has certainly not been any creative writing on these perfect pages!

Perhaps I am her inspiration.  Perhaps my dreams have called to her, my pages coaxing her into a good story on that day!

“Dear Diary, Today I got an ‘A’ in creative writing!  Oh my gosh!  I journal (as long as nosy Mom and get-out-of-my-business little brother Jimmy can keep from finding it!)  I am so happy! This morning, the hairdryer was all fuzzy-like and made my hair frizzy! Go figure, I gained 3 1/2 pounds since this morning.  Gtg.  Homework.”

Well! Wasn’t that exciting! Her creative writing skills lasted all of one sentence. Ugh! For years, this is all that I will be. “I’m fat, I’m skinny, he loves me, he hates me, he can’t stand me, OMGosh, he looked at me!!” It can be entertaining, but I can’t wait for her to grow up and write about some flavourful content; what to wear to the opera; reflections on her first day of work; her night at the prom. Oh, but if dreams could come true. Patience surely is a virtue not given to diaries. I will wait.

“Dear Diary”, (sigh) “Today I made a decision. I want to be an author. Really. I mean, wouldn’t it be awesome? I mean, I write every day anyhow. You’re like my best friend; my inspiration…” (Be still my beating heart!) “Oh, Mom’s calling! TTYL!”

I am her inspiration, her best friend! Could a diary be happier? She wants to be an author!

Bless my soul.. oh dear.. my pages are feeling a little teary. Hmph. Can’t smudge the lines. Ok. Deep Breath. We did it!