Dear Journal

Since I'm sure you care (not), I'm writing to tell you how much I hate you.  It's the sad truth, but you had to find out eventually, figured I'd make it my very first entry.  The only reason I'm writing to you is because my English teacher is making me keep a diary to help flesh out my ideas or something ridiculous like that.  Whatevs.  Here we are.

Now that we got that out of the way, the prompt for today is to talk about when and where we were born.  Because apparently our birth, that moment we had no control over and can't even remember, is important to some people.  Who woulda thought.

I was born in Seattle, Washington, which I have to say is pretty chill.  Not too cold, and definitely not too hot.  I've lived here my whole life, all 17 super impact-full years of it.  Nothin' better than the cold rain soaking you down to the bone in the middle of a really dark night.  I was born in 1994, and if I could remember anything else about it I'd tell ya.  My mom says I cried a lot, for a long time.  I guess I feel kind of bad, seeing as the bags under her eyes still haven't gone away and it's been over 15 years.  But I'm happy to have gotten all my tears out back then, when they couldn't hold it against me.  I'm proud to say I don't know how to cry anymore, and there's nothing to regret about that.

So that's that.  I was born.  I've lived.  Gotta love stupid prompts, yeah?

Til the next assignment,

Jade

Oh and by the way, Journal, I refuse to call you Diary.  I won't do it.  The term is all mushy and emotional, implying that you'll hold all my deepest, darkest secrets.  Don't get your hopes up if that's what you're expecting.  I have none.  The fact that I like dark chocolate over milk chocolate is about as deep and dark as they come.