Lament of the Unused Diary

Okay, so maybe it isn't as profound to anyone else out there, but this morning I woke up with the realization that this, this blog, this writing experience, is nothing more than keeping a diary. [Fine, journal for all you wishing to disassociate yourself from love-angst teenaged girls!] I don't do diaries and I wonder if this, like all my other attempts, will disappear into the netherworld of cyberspace, only to be dusted off occasionally and mocked. There are several, antiquated predecessors to this, in...gasp...book-form, lying in various moldering states in my basement. Long lost attempts at keeping daily tabs on the unbelievably mundane occurrences in my life. Most of which did in fact revolve around a variety of pimply-faced boys I was mad about and [insert Valley Girl accent here] "I'm so fat" diatribes! So, as the monstrously huge pile of student work screams out for me to correct it and get on with my REAL work, I leave this for now. But under it all, I hear the books in the basement sigh with regret at their incomplete status and chuckle to themselves over the notion that once again I'm bound to fail in my attempts to write something down on a daily basis.