I don’t love the idea of writing in a journal. I do enough writing at school, so why is my mother giving me extra homework?
April 3
Dear Diary,
I guess I should start by introducing myself. Wait, why am I introducing myself to a book? You’re a blank journal; you don’t even have a brain. Forget it.
On the other hand, if this book is discovered in a thousand years by some archaeologists, you guys will want some background information, right? Okay, so here goes: My name is Binyamin and I live in the 21st century. I live aboard a submarine in the Pacific Ocean with a crew of trained monkey sailors. I am their captain and we spend our days sailing the seas, looking for buried treasure.
Don’t believe me? My name really is Binyamin and I really am ten years old, but that’s about all that’s true so far. I don’t live on a submarine in the Pacific Ocean. I just live in a regular boring old house in New York. And I don’t live with a bunch of monkeys. (Unless you count my siblings. My father does call us monkeys sometimes, but only when we’re being wild.)
I’ve never written in a diary or journal before, but my mother gave me this notebook this morning and told me to write in it. She said she and my father are going to surprise me and my brothers later tonight with some news, and she wants me to remember everything that I’m feeling and thinking, so I should write it down. So far, all I’m feeling is curious. And I guess a little excited also, because maybe it’s going to be something super-cool.
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