You know, punkling, one of the things that i think about when I write this is how I'm going to explain it all to you.
Sure, you're going to grow up knowing that your old man's this bizarre freak who, instead of telling you how he feels, dissapears off to the computer and tells the whole world, and then almost as an afterthought lets you know that you can read it.
But I'm wondering how you're going to feel about the idea that I've chosen to communicate with you in this way. I can't lose sight of the fact that this journal is a method for me as an adult to speak to you as an adult. Of course, by the time you're an adult we'll all have flying cars, and the earth will be ruled by damned dirty apes, but there you go.
I think that, flying in the face of artistic tradition, my most fervent wish is that you like what I have put together here. Certainly, I've spent long enough on it that it would be nice to feel like you appreciate the effort I've put in to keep it up to date.
Having said that, you're a kid, so it's likely that your first reactions to my endeavour will mirror closely your facial expression in the photo herein. Firstly, you will tell me how frightfully uncool my entire creation is, and then it's likely that you will never have time in your busy social schedule to read it. Certainly, having attended your first Mums and Bubs group down at the Maternal Health Centre today, it would appear that your appointments calendar is already filling up.
Love you.
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