August 23, 2002 | 1:59 AM

It's so new to be alone like this.

There are things no one knows.

Not even you, Diaryland.

Like how I spent my last half hour.

Only the flourescent lights hovering above the bathroom sink know.

And that's how it will stay.

This is what autonomy is like.

All confessions are cryptic.

I wonder--

If I read this entry in ten years, will I remember how I spent tonight?

I guess that's what pen and ink are for.

I best get to it.

I shouldn't forget this.