Dear cellulose object,

  I guess this is how you're supposed to write a diary.. dear something.

  This is my first page and will probably be the last.

  I feel so stupid keeping a diary.. what am I supposed to be writing? My thoughts? My life? There's nothing interesting to know about me.

  Why am I writing as if somebody will read this? How pathetic.

  Okay, maybe on the first page, there should be some intent outlined. Why did I decide to start writing?

  Well, why not? I actually don't know what I am doing. Was it boredom that brought me here? Who knows?

  Most likely, I feel like I am changing a lot lately, so this should act as a testimony - or testament - of the person I used to be, I am, and I will be. In case the change turns out to be negative, it should be easier to go back to my old self, a sort of factory reset. Is that even possible for humans? Does that make sense?

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  More realistically, I am writing on this piece of cellulose just to complain about my life. I can't say my life is bad, but it's not good either. There's just a lingering sense of unease that has towered over me since I was a child, but there is no actual cause. I really shouldn't be complaining. There are people in far worse situations who don't dare to complain.. so why should I?

  I have a family, a cat, plenty of food, a roof over my head, and I even have a bunch of friends.

  Yeah, I definitely shouldn't complain. Then, what else should I write? I already wrote 276 words about the nothingness of this existence.. I even half-presented myself. How bizarre, I didn't mean to when I first started writing.

  If I present myself, then I'll feel forced to write more useless pages.. which could actually be a good way to find motivation.

  Yeah, definitely. I made this diary by destroying and blending together a bunch of old notes from past lectures; I definitely can't use the excuse of wasting money if I don't fill these pages.

  Until I have this diary-writing newfound hobby.

  Bye, my recycled little creation,

  Vera