Dear Diary,
Sometimes, I would rather not be an adult, like when I am trying to do things like get a hold of a landlord that is perpetually MIA. But then, I'm walking around this camp and I am so grateful for the fact that I am considered a grownup here. I get to sit at the end of the table at meals, I get to use the staff shower, I don't have to take a buddy to the bathroom at night. I get to use the internet.
Snack yesterday was the most amazing warm gooey rice crispies of my life, and today it is BABY CARROTS!?!?! how are these two even in the same category!? I am upset, to say the very least.
Love,
Diana

Dear Diary,
I went shopping with the sister today and downtown robbed me blind. I am completely powerless in the situation. Put a girl in a summercamp for a few weeks and she will come home and want to go to Nordstroms.
I have a car! on a trial basis. A 1987 Ford Bronco II. Stick shift, peeling paint, full of manly brawn in a compact SUV. That is why it is the perfect car for me. I am testing it out for a little while, it belongs to my uncle in Olympia. I'm going to take it to camp, see how it fares. Then maybe I'll join some sort of Oregon offroading club and find myself a husband who shares my love for compact SUVs with manyly brawn.
Love,
Diana