The only thing a twelve-year-old can get from a diary is ebarrassment. Not only from the cheesy topics, but also from the massive innovations to grammar and spelling.
This is the conclusion I’ve made after flipping through my old dusty diaries. What was I thinking? Totally, that it would help refresh some of the memories, but that thought didn’t even cross my mind for a while. I really didn’t expect the best quality ever, but this is an “incarnate insult to the English Language”. Oh, and wow! I also tend to embarrass myself in all ways alive and dead.
This is Mr. Journal that survived all the disasters