Dear diary,
After the wedding rehearsal last night, Clark and Brenda gave me this journal as, to quote Clark as he handed it to me, "a sort of thank-you-for-putting-up-with-this-madness present." It's a fine book, bound in a high-quality leatherette with handmade paper; it's so naturally made that it took ten minutes of Clark's and my nerdy analysis to discover this fact since there was no label with such information.
I'm sure I'll put it to good use. Keeping a diary (which, for some reason, just sounds more personal than "journaling") can't be as bad as I thought it was when I was younger; in fact, it seems to be rather fun now that I've started up again. Talking of which, I'll store that piece of notebook paper I wrote my thoughts on back in '47 in the cover of my new diary; those thoughts were disorganised and, as a rule, haphazardly written, but they are well worth keeping. Besides that, after a year at uni, my handwriting has certainly changed and will probably continue doing so. I think it will be interesting to compare throughout the entries, especially with my secondary school journal on hand, as well. Studying how I've changed as a person by looking at my old handwriting: I'm really sounding like an archaeologist, aren't I? All that hard work is paying off.
So, by way of introduction, I suppose I should mention that Clark and Brenda Triton were, until recently, Clark Triton and Brenda Sutherland and are good friends of mine. Clark and I met in Dr. Schrader's 112 class, and have had multiple classes together ever since; he is a sophomore, as well. We met Brenda as a freshman a few weeks later, when Clark helped her back up when she had tripped on a step coming on to the tram; they started dating soon after. Very romantic indeed. They're both history majors with geology emphases and are huge nerds; their parents were worried they rushed into marriage, but I think they're perfect for each other.
Also by way of introduction, I suppose I should mention that my name is Hershel Layton, if that knowledge is of any importance to you; I suppose I am referring to 'Diary' when I address my audience. And before you ask, no, I was not named after Milton S. Hershey nor his chocolate company, but after John Herschel, an eighteenth century scientist who co-invented photography, thank you very much. When I was adopted, my parents dropped the C in the spelling, for whatever reason; at least it's one less letter for me to say when spelling my unusual name for people.
Since I last wrote at the beginning of my freshman year, I have chosen my major: archaeology. It's what I had in mind from the beginning, though I was open-minded as long as I would still be in the archaeological area. There isn't much to choose from here, anyway: archaeology, like me, historical geology, like Clark, paleontology, anthropology, and various specializations in different parts of history. And of course there is the grad school – many undergrads I know on going there next and of those graduates most are planning on teaching – but I think I'll steer clear of that. I'm spending enough money already!
Now then, back to business. I must admit that I felt rather gaudy today: standing at the front of the church to Clark's left like a tuxedoed shadow. It was no doubt an honour for him to choose me as his best man and only groomsman, as it was a rather small wedding: Brenda only had her maid of honour, Marylyn, there next to her. But, to my knowledge, I was the only one in the whole building wearing a cravat – my own, which Clark insisted I wear since he thinks it suits me. I wanted to argue that its deep red would look ridiculous next to his modern white necktie, but I told wanted to argue that its deep red would look ridiculous next to his modern white necktie, but I told myself that this was his wedding and that he was letting me be a part in it, so I wore my cravat, held my tongue, and best manned, or whatever it's called that I was doing. Thankfully, though, all eyes were primarily on the happy couple throughout the ceremony, so I don't think anyone noticed my cravat much. And no, I am not as vain as I sound; I just did not want to stick out like a sore thumb.
I'm pretty tired from this long day of mine, so thus ends my first, official entry in this new diary. Until we meet again.