Dear Diary— Journal,
When you (is it appropriate to call a diary you? It seems odd, but I suppose this is most convenient) were bestowed upon me last night by my mother under the sparkling stars, I mistook you for a (rather awful) Christmas present. Not once did I stop to think that you were a (still quite terrible) parting gift, until my sorrowful mother justified our situation not a few minutes later. (I'd rather not delve into the details of our arrangement, though it appears they believe I'm too old to be staying home with them. Unbelievable.)
I never imagined that I would ever have to leave the farm, and its plentiful fields of greenery. Nor did I think I would have to abandon my simple, peaceful life living among them. I never dared to consider parting from the friends and family I so dearly love. The mere thought still horrifies me, yet here I am, solemnly packing my bag in preparation to go to the city. Isn't it so tragic? So miserable? No lush green plants, no horses and no mother to feed me. I mean to love me. No mother to love me. How on earth will I, a farmpotato who has never left home, survive in the city?
Alas, I must leave now. It seems that I must meet with my second cousins (thrice removed) Mac Fry and Potter Chip once I reach the city. I can only hope they're pleasant. Adieu for now, dia— journal. I must bid farewell to my family before I leave.
-Spater McStarch
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The Diary of a Potato
RandomSpater McStarch was a normal potato, with a normal life, and a normal family. He was completely, utterly normal - in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for Spater, the world has bigger plans for the young potato who spent his entire life on a fa...
