Muli Ben-Yehuda's journal

This diary is personal in nature. If that sort of thing unfazes you, skip.

Looking through some old emails, I came upon a diary excerpt I sent someone. That led me to look through my old files, until I found my personal diary, and that led to reading it.

Jesus.

So much angst, so much hurt, so much pain. Which should come as no surprise when I remind myself that I wrote only when I felt bad, but is still incredibly unnerving to read now. Time has a tendency to soften the memory, to sharpen one’s memory of the good times and obscure the bad ones. The diary bought those bad time, some of them spectacularly bad, under harsh 100 watt interrogation lights in all of their ugliness.

Oh, and … so many women, too. What the fuck (pun intended) was I thinking? thank god that’s all over now.

I would publish the entire diary here as a way of offsetting its bad mojo, but I’m ashamed of the god awful writing. Maybe anonymously?