I have been working on some mary-jane slippers since the weather got cold. I got a pattern from the little house by the sea which was incredibly easy to use after I worked out some alterations for my huge feet. Now they just need edging with a different colour, but it’s too rainy to go wool shopping today.
I get really cold hands and feet in winter and I can feel them ice-cubing already. These slippers are made out of really soft and warm cotton wool, but to make them a bit warmer I was thinking of lining them and maybe putting some leather soles on so they last longer. I might go the whole hog and add crochet flowers on the toes, but that might be going too far.
Having kept a diary from the age of seven, I sometimes miss having a little book under my pillow to keep the very important secrets of my life. Long before I gave up writing a diary, I began to get confused as to the purpose of these entries. Who was I writing too? Why? Was it important? I still don’t really know the answers to these questions.
Now, I read back my diaries and laugh a lot. I am obsessed with documenting mundane events at seven, and keep three diaries simultaneously on different themes to make sure I have every aspect covered. I become increasingly secretive at ten after receiving a padlocked diary, and write about James Bond kissing scenes and risqué jokes. From fourteen onwards I am increasingly ridiculous, to the point where it is quite painful to read. It was an especially awkward age for me, but I don’t think many people would choose to relive those years. At 18 I am confused, at 20 I get vague. I can’t write anything down due to the fear that my mind will be changed in a month. This is the point when I stop.
I am hoping writing a blog will answer a few questions I had about my original diaries. This blog is for myself, or more specifically, to spur me into action. It is also for strangers on the internet who appreciate the things I write and do and want to share their lives in return. It is also an experiment in the way people live their lives in this modern age.
I am glad I kept diaries, they give me strange insights into my past. The internet seems to me to be a constant present: updating, posting, commenting, connecting. Retrospect is not a concept that has value. A blog is a diary where you categorise your thoughts under different headings, store what you have learnt in life with instructions, provide photographic evidence of your actions. The term ‘privacy’ is redefined under an array of settings. After all, what would be the point of a blog if no one could see it?
I think I will rename this blog as a ‘log’ (which I have just realised is probably the connection the inventors of the blog intended.) It gives it a purposeful, captain-like air as if I am charting my journey in some kind of life-ship. For me, the diary is just not suited to cyber space. They should be mouldering away in the attic in a box of old things, the exact whereabouts known only by one person.