I’ve been keeping a journal ever since I could remember. My grandmother would constantly be out buying me journals and diaries so that I could keep writing stories. I have so many books that are unfinished, unstarted, or mid finished. What’s the use in writing for an audience that might never read the words that I have to say?
Onwards we move into the digital era, where the inner monologue of a young woman is published for all to read anywhere. What could possibly go wrong?
All facetiousness aside, I enjoy writing about my life and making it funny. I guess that’s how I cope with half the mierda that goes on around here. I want to tell people about what I’ve seen and where I’ve come from. I strive for human connection as we all try to find some meaning in this near dystopian society. As you slowly dive into the entries, let me know if you hear me.
