I find writing rather therapeutic. Which is a good thing because I probably should be in therapy and God knows I have neither the time or the money for it. When I was young I use to keep a diary. I'd write all my crazy thoughts in there. Not the kind where you make plans to go to school with a couple of guns hidden in duffel coat and get even with the kids who always pick you last in PE. I mean the kind where you practice the signature you will use when you and Craig Pearce tie the knot at the end of grade 6 or where you ask the universe if you should grow your fringe out. I loved it. I'd write in one for a while and when I'd recovered from my most recent crisis I'd promptly destroy it in a ritual I'd like to think was similar to a Phoenix bursting into flames so new life could emerge but in truth it was just because I had written such drivel I was terrified someone might find it.
This is my modern day diary. Problem is I can't burn it when I'm over my latest crisis for 2 reasons. First, I am under the impression that torching my laptop will not dispose of the evidence and secondly, my crises are usually overlapping. So I'm going to suck it up and accept that this will be out there for all eternity.
And I'm using an alias.