In my questionable past as a young person, I devoted much time to semi-legible illustrations in the margins of various types of bound materials, not the least of which were diaries. Peruse the pointless scrawlings here. This whole matter with the diaries stopped sometime during my early to mid-twenties, an unmagical time when my unstructured, creative delusions ran smack against the clue known as full time employment, and my adult life began, such as it is. I haven't kept a diary in 10 years, because all it would say, page after page, would be, "work sucked today." At least young, stupid persons get themselves into all sorts of lurid scrapes worth laughing about later... there is nothing funny about work sucking, however.