susan sontag. goddamn she was so fabulous. her son put together a collection of her journals from her early years. i added this to my christmas wish list (in addition to an "i love NJ" shirt that i have visions of myself wearing proudly around this hideous part of the country).
i'd be kind of pissed if my ~personal~ journal entries were published after i died. granted, sontag willingly let her mediawhore partner photograph her as she was dying (and was later photographed dead) so she probably wouldn;t have minded these journals being published. but i cant help but think, her son is going to profit off his dead moms journals. weird. i dont know if i could live with that.
when my mom was cleaning out her parents house after they died she came across a huge box of letters that my grandparents wrote to each other during the war. my grandmother apparently gave prior instructions on this matter and told my mom to 'burn them' once they died. i have no idea what happened to the letters. but i'd feel guilty reading them if they are still around. some shit needs to go to the grave i suppose.
i've kept journals probably since i was around 12 or so. but never consistent. and i mostly wrote when i was feeling particularly angsty. majority of the content was never anything too personal, mostly ideas for stories or strange shit i observed in my travels. i distinctly remember writing an entry when i was probably 14 detailing my hatred for chick classmates that would whip out putrid smelling bath & bodyworks lotions and slather it on during class. life was clearly so tough back then
