JANUARY 3
SEASIDE, OREGON
(Night)
Dear diary,
I’m here, at my uncle Tommy’s beach house. It’s about nine o’clock at night. I’m upstairs, by myself. I’ve got my pen, my spiral notebook. ...
That’s my very first diary entry. I thought I have to try it… What else should I do here at this time? There isn’t anything to do. I’m bored…
I would like to go onto the porch, but it’s cold outside, although it’s summer. Inside, however, it isn’t much better either: The lights are flattering, the wood is creaking, it’s draughty. What an awful evening. I wish I were at home.
I’m thinking of my friends. While I have to sit here, my friends are skating all the time… That’s not fair! Okay, the beach is wonderful, my uncle is nice, and the kids from Oregon are okay, too. But after three weeks, I can’t see the beach anymore and my uncle is a pain in the neck. One more week, then I can go home. Home to my place, to my friends, to my ardently loved skatepark.
