Dear Diary, can’t talk, gotta go, bye.
First of all, many of us wrote about our lives to Dear Dairy, patron saint of milk and teenage secrets.
Who to go to the dance with. WHY YOU GOT NO ANSWERS, DAIRY?
"One day Chris B. asked me to the dance. I might go I might not."
How much you hated your mother/brother/sister/father/the whole goddamned world.
What day it was and how sorry you were you couldn't write more.
"Today is Jan 1 (?) 1994. Sorrey I havf to go!!"
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