Confessions of a Clerical Assistant

When I was between the ages of 10 and 19 roughly I kept a diary. The entries are generally narrative, no "Dear Diary" crap, and I thought everything I was writing was SO interesting. (hey has much changed?)
I think about my diaries often. They sit at the top of the spare wardrobe in two innocent looking boxes, numbering about 12 A5 books in total, and I rarely look at them. But I think about them a bit.
I don't necessarily muse over whether I should have liked that boy more than THAT boy, or should I have been less of a bitch to THAT girl.
I think mostly about my motivation for keeping them.
I know I reached the age of 19 or so and I realised I wasn't writing in them as often, and I couldn't be bothered making the effort to continue to write so religiously.
It felt all so contrived. And I kind of still think it is.
In a way I think it was a good outlet for my oh-so-angst-ridden teenage thoughts and feelings. I mean, every teenage girl thinks the sky is falling don't they?
Maybe they don't.
Somehow with my oh-so-easy upbringing I still felt entitled to have "issues"
non-existent as they were.
I mean don't get me wrong, it wasn't as though I didn't know girls with issues. Hell I DID!
I have often recounted to people that of all the divorced kids I went to school with, the ones I noticed most were girls, and without exception they all hated their fathers with a passion. I always thought that was an interesting reflection on how girls cope with family break down. They side with their mother.
I think it was probably a good outlet in some ways, maybe I simply didn't feel of any of my friends I could tell them absolutely everything that I told my diary.

One of the interesting things that crop up when people talk about diaries and motiviation is fear of discovery. Some people are terrified their diary will be stolen and read. Some people will stop writing after this. I came to a realisation one day that I think I always wrote my diary hoping that someone would find it and read it.
I think I was hoping someone would understand me. its also possible though that I was looking for pity and maybe "if someone truly understood me they would feel sorry for me"
Except I wasn't worthy of anyone feeling sorry for me. I was a whiny bitch. That's what teenagers do. They feel misunderstood, until they get older and realise they were giant whingers.

I remember one of my diaries was a small Art Book, with blank pages. I was going through an arty phase where I was hoping if I had the tools of the trade I would be more arty than I really was. I had this romantic ideal of being artistic and talented. That fell on its ass. LOL.

In year 10 I took one of the career aptitude tests they give you in "Careers", which I'm pretty sure I had first period Thursday morning.
I ticked all my boxes etc and added my score. I was devastated when the field I was told I was destined for was "Clerical and Administration". I wanted to be in the "creative" category that would yeild me an interesting career like "Museum Curator" or something fancy sounding.
I look back on that test and I think, why didn't I trust that test more?
The job I have now? Well you could class the industry as Technology, but my actual job? Clerical/Administration. And I LOVE it. I've said it a hundred times in job interviews, "I like Admin. Hey it's not for everyone, I admit, but it's my thing. I like the preciseness of it."

LOL