I am not really sure how to write to you. Are you a friend or a judging stranger? Maybe I should not write to you at all, but it seems strangely narcissistic to write for myself. So, for now, this is to you:
I celebrated my birthday not long ago, and that was the day I found you. Father had given me some coins and I went to the local thrift shop. There you were, a little old but very beautiful, lying on a low shelf. You did not have a word written inside. Why would anyone would get rid of such a beautiful journal? Perhaps they were not the writing sort. I am. I even bought some lovely crimson ink.
Anyway, it will be nice to have a diary because this summer will be more exciting than most. My older sister's name is Jane. She has been married for ten years now, can you believe it? She was only eighteen at the time. I am already twenty-one and I have no such plans. Jane was always the better daughter, though.
Well, she thinks it is important for me to enjoy my youth. I do not think she ever planned to have five children before turning thirty! Mother and Father can be strict about boys and fun, so Jane thinks a summer away will do me some good. My parents think I will be learning the joys of family and the skills of homemaking and child rearing. Of course, I will do no such thing! I do not care if I ever get married.
Hopefully I will have more exciting tales for you next time, Diary.