The Purpose of Diaries

I have recently discovered the purpose of diaries. It all began when our built-in vaccuum cleaner began to misbehave. There was (apparently) a clog somewhere between the wall by my room and the vaccuum unit (which is below my room). My dad had requested that the cubby holes along my walls be cleared out so he could get in and clear out the piping.

Perhaps some clarification regarding cubbyholes is necessary to visualize the story (which isn't even the main focus of the story, but what do you care anyway?). My room is on top of the garage, and it has a slanted roof. Imagine, if you will, the way you would draw a house as a child with a triangular roof. If you were to take that triangle and put straight lines down the left and right side, effectively making two triangles on each bottom side. Those triangles are the cubby holes. They are long, narrow passages behind my walls, that as children my brother and I used to "live in" and send "mail" back and forth.

Anyway, over the years these cubby holes have become more of storage areas. The left side is devoted to my dad's business stuff, and the vaccuum pipe. We cleared it out to find around 100 3.5 inch floppy disks containing many DOS games, original business files (from 1990), and my diary from 7th grade (1992). It was written in Xywrite. Xywrite, as some of you may know, was pre-word business document software. It was simplistic and archaic. I wondered if my diary was even on the disk.

I brought the diary disk to my computer and slipped it into the slot. The files were in there, but they didn't seem to have extensions. I decided that I would try to open it with word. It opens. I read my diary from 7th grade, and here is where we find out the purpose of diaries.

The purpose of diaries is for one to look back and realize what a fool you were. To read and remember the embarrassing moments, feelings, thoughts, and actions. They are, effectively, to show your growth, and make you wonder "who is that person, and what the hell was I thinking."

None of the romanticism you see in movies occurs. Grandma isn't going to look back at her diary, well up with tears, and say, "Wow little Jenny, I'm so glad I could share this with you." Grandma is going to grab the book, bury it in the backyard, and crawl under a rock.