You and I have so much in common I think I may have just coughed red wine through my nose. I have been harbouring mortification over my diary being discovered upon my death, read at my funeral and the prospect of all my friends and loved ones discovering just how dull my life really is. It absolutely stops my dead in my tracks - pen dangling over pristine paper bound in leather with a matching bookmark ribbon. I am my diary entry. Or the lack thereof.
All this existential thinking makes me want to watch Grey's Anatomy until my eyes fall out of my head.