A/N: So, here's the second chapter! If you guys have any suggestions for future entries, I'll be happy to hear them!


Monday, August 8

Did you like that last entry, Mary-Margaret? Of course you didn't, because it was honest. I'll write another one for you, because I'm at work with a stack of undone paperwork on my desk, and I don't want to do it.

Dear Damn Diary,

Here we are again. What do you want to hear about today? About my job? My boss? My constant battle between fitness and food? I can't stand this either way, so pick one, diary. Did I hear you say "job"? Alright then, I'll tell you about my pathetic excuse of a job.

One fine day, Emma Swan, a beautiful blonde woman in a bad-ass red leather jacket, was walking around town, minding her own business. Suddenly, Regina Mills, the Mayor of Storybrooke, comes up to her and says, "Hey, you useless piece of shit, you need a job because I want to destroy you in ways that won't get me arrested." in that professional, sexy voice she has. And Emma Swan couldn't refuse, because she was an idiot. So Emma found herself behind a desk, with a badge on her chest and a gun on her hip, and a helluva lot of paperwork in front of her. And Regina said, "You don't get to do anything except sign things, do math, and maybe chase a drunken Leroy once in a while. Enjoy yourself, Miss Swan." And the mayor left, and Emma was left to sulk and spin around in her chair for eternity. Now Emma gets to write in diary. Level up!

You know I love you, mom. Right?

Sarcastically yours, Emma Swan

Tuesday, August 9

I think I've already gotten bored with this idea, mom. I'd rather do my paperwork! You've destroyed me!

Wednesday, August 10

What to write about? What to write about? What to write about? Ooh! I know! I'll write a song for you, Mary-Margaret! How about that? I think you'll enjoy this! (No, not really, in case you got excited.)

Dear Damn Diary,

I'm going to write my mother a song. What should it be to the tune of? Mary Had A Little Lamb? Oh, that'll be perfect! It even has her name in it! Well, here goes nothing:

Mary had a little girl, little girl, little girl,

Mary had a little girl, and she was twenty-two.

She made her keep a diary, diary, diary,

she made her keep a diary, just like she was two.

But Emma didn't like that book, like that book, like that book,

Emma didn't like that book, and threw it in a fire.

The fire burned the whole damn town, whole damn town, whole damn town,

the fire burned the whole damn town, and it was Mary's fault.

I like that song. I really do.

Sarcastically yours, Emma Swan

Thursday, August 11

Yeah, that was kind of mean. I'm sorry, mom. So I'll write some lies for you in this entry, just to make you happy. Okay? Does that sound good?

Dear Darling Diary,

I'm just so confused about life, diary. I mean, am I pretty enough? Does everyone like me? Do I have enough Facebook friends? Maybe if I go shopping and get some new clothes, then that guy at the grocery store will like me back... It's just so stressful! He looks at me like he might be interested, but I just can't tell! Is he just being friendly, or flirty? What about the guy at the auto shop? His hair is so perfect! How does he do that? How does Ruby manage to dye her hair that precisely? Can I do that? I don't think my mom will let me. She won't let me do anything! I wanted some new shoes at the mall, and she said no! I mean, how could she? All the decisions, too. Do I wear the brown leather jacket, or the red? Or the tank top? Do I smell good? I just want to cry all the time, and nobody seems to understand me! Today, I ate my lunch like a pig! Did anyone see? That was sooo embarrassing, I just have to die!

Okay, I'm done.

I'm literally barfing, mom. My mind is rebelling. I must have some cocoa and a good scream.

Painfully yours, Emma Swan

Friday, August 12

Can I take a break today, Mary-Margaret? I'm still recovering from yesterday.