Hot tears streamed down my pouty, cherub face as I tried to decipher a picture book in my first grade classroom.  The story of the spotted dog is still a mystery to this day, although its face materializes clearly in my memory bank.  I remember having a hard time learning to read as a child.  My mother, most likely noticing this, took me to the library often and encouraged me wholeheartedly to enjoy any book I desired.  She instilled in me a love and appreciation for the written word.  The child that secretly tore books apart in frustration presently reads constantly as a young adult.

Reading is my hobby, but writing will always be my passion.  Diaries with loose spines and dog eared pages are hidden here and there all over my room.  A diary exists from every chapter of my life.  The good, the bad, and the depressingly ugly are categorized into countless daily records; I’ve logged my entire evolution onto lined paper.

In short, this is my answer to all those that ask “Why did you start a blog?”  It isn’t for recognition or attention.  It isn’t for comments or likes.  This is my diary.  It’s 2016 and about damn time to go paperless.


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