I was fully intent on making this post on time this year, but I had way more urgent matters on that day. On the 11th of August my diary turned 5. There's been so much to it. It's an addiction, really. I've had paper diaries for the last 12 years. But now I seldom use those because this became my drug of choice. Maybe it's a sort of therapy, maybe just indulgence, but I can't rest until I write it all down. Pictures and lyrics and dreams, it's a scrapbook of my life. Just some month ago I was so glad that I managed to keep up with my own flow, but lately I have too much on my mind, tons of drafts waiting to be finished. Sometimes I really wish for some kind of reaction to the things I write, but lately I really stopped expecting one. Yet I know there are at least three people I cherish who are interested in what I write and that's enough for me. I always preferred quality over quantity anyway. This place is my little refuge. To me keeping this diary is really tough, but I see it as an art of sorts. I'd even go so far as to say that in a way this is my means of attaining perfection.