A little bit of advice.
Should you ever come across an old diary while cleaning your home whatever you do, do NOT open it. Should you somehow find yourself overcome with curiosity and thus unable to refrain from opening the diary, do NOT read it. If, by some freak accident of sight, you then discover that you’re actually reading the diary and the first entry begins with, “I can’t believe she left me for him when she found out I couldn’t afford it.” Do NOT call the wife over and read the entry out loud to her. Instead, put the diary down, douse it and yourself with gasoline, light a match and enjoy the warmth. Because when your wife turns to you with a jealous look and asks, “Who is ‘she’, what is ‘it’ and why were you in love with this whore in the first place?” you’ll have no one to blame for your weekend of torture and pain but yourself. And if you don’t like sleeping on the couch because it hurts your back well, it’s a hell of a lot less painful than sleeping next to an angry wife.
You have been warned.
Found a highschool journal did you? You should have sent it to me.. I’d have posted them on newgroups somewhere. :P
Ah, the joys of the paper trail.