Oh yes.  Another diary.  This time, other people can read it, but don't know who the hell I am.  I've never done this sort before.  I've done the little bound books with padlocks and keys, 
unassuming spiral notebooks, WordPerfect files with and without passwords.  
It never lasts.  Maybe a month or two.  Then I forget.  I start spending the night at a new boyfriend's place too often, or I simply forget.  Then I find it a few months later and cringe at how tragic I thought I was.   I can't bear to believe that I really enjoyed having sex with the previous creep, and I toss it.  Most of my journals that I haven't detstroyed already have the first thirty pages ripped out.
I guess I just don't have the artistic temperament, either to keep a journal over a prolonged period of time, or to stomach the melodramatic tripe horny teenage girls write.  But I do know how words fit together, so I am determined to learn how to write.