Hello there, you unremarkable blank collection of paper bound by a card spine, you.
The first entry in a journal is always the most difficult, especially for somepony who isn't used to doing this sort of thing at all, but Miss Cheerilee seems to think it'll help to gather all my thoughts together for posterity, so one dipped quill later here I am to give it a go. Wish me luck... hope I'm not too boring!
It's been two years since I realised the true significance of my Cutie Mark.
Two years since I became 'the pony I want to be'.
Two years since my mother stopped bothering me, and agreed to let me live my own life...
Okay, that last part was a blatant lie. But we can all dream, can't we?
I'm sitting here in my four poster bed, writing this now (in the best pink ink, naturally) when I should be asleep, because I fear I haven't been very active for a while.
Well fear not everypony, just because I don't speak much anymore or get involved in proceedings as often as I used to, doesn't mean I've stopped living my life altogether!
I'm currently shooting the breeze, lurking just under the radar, chilling in the background, waiting for my big moment to arrive once more.
Something tells me I have at least twenty-six more chances to make my triumphant return. How do I know this? I have no idea... it must be one of those weird prophetic instincts we ponies have.
For instance, some mornings I would wake up thinking 'I'm going to be a newspaper editor today' or 'I will tryout for the Crystal Empire Games'. Then, it would just happen. Crazy, huh? Some real next-level stuff, right there.
Just recently though, my mental urges on that front have fallen a bit silent. Nowadays, my ambitions seem to extend to just sitting quietly at my desk or moving my mouth to other random foals.
I say 'moving my mouth', because no actual words come out. So, unless my listener is highly proficient at lipreading, I'm afraid my attempts at communication might be a little bit wasted. Yet for some unknown reason, I keep pointlessly flapping my jaw away. Weirder and weirder.
Even stranger is the fact that my growing irrelevance seems to have coincided with my successful attempts at 'reforming' myself. Naturally, I assumed I'd be invited to more social activities because of this, especially with my new friends: The Cutie Mark Crusaders.
Sadly, that doesn't appear to have been the case. While they're gallivanting off around the world helping lucky fillies and colts out with their destinies, I'm stuck here avoiding Mother like the plague or going out with Father to buy purple flowers for her on Mare's Day.
It's not like she ever appreciates what we do for her, anyway. Whether she be relaxing at the spa, languishing at home or sitting in her office pretending to work, her default settings seem to be 'arrant boastfulness' or 'outrageous narcissism'.
Sometimes, I just wish she could once again be the caring, sharing parent she was when I was born. My memories of back then are hazy to say the least, but I clearly recall being held close, being told I was the sweetest filly alive and that she'd love and protect me forever...
Yeah, that worked out really well, didn't it? I don't know what transformed her from being a devoted mother who'd do anything for her daughter, to a pompous blowhard prone to chewing out me and my classmates publicly, but here we are.
I suppose I should just try to make the best of the situation, despite often feeling like just a useless prop to get her a modicum of social acceptance. I still have my Father when he isn't away on business, and dear old Randolph, acrobatic skills and all.
Just the other day Daddy asked me what I want to do when I grow up. I told him I want to put my leadership skills to good use and help the community at large. He seemed very amused by this and said, and I quote: "Why don't you run for mayor one day, then?"
Obviously he was joking, but as he gave me my goodnight kiss and turned my nightlight on, it kind of got me thinking: why on Equestria not? The current incumbent is seen even less than me these days, and with the exception of a picturesque castle springing up overnight, Ponyville hasn't been properly developed in years.
I'm not saying it's going to become the next Canterlot or anything, but I'm positive our charming little town has a lot more potential than we believe at the moment. Further on in this book, I plan to have a section where my diagrams and schematics can be stored away for future reference. I may be young, but there's nothing wrong with planning ahead, right?
I could get Silv to help me, but it is with great sorrow I report that I may be seeing less and less of her in the future. You see, very soon she'll be attending an exclusive advanced cookery course in Manehattan, as per her Cutie Mark. Obviously I'll miss her, but we all must fly the nest at some point and I don't want to stand in her way...
Oh, who am I trying to kid?! I'd miss her like I'd miss my tiara if it ever fell off my head and got broken, or stolen by some ne'er do well. I may have plenty more friends now compared to when I was a spoiled brat, but none of them will ever be as close to me as good ol' Silv, the only pony who really believed in me from the beginning.
I've already wept buckets upon hearing the sad news of her departure (seriously, I need to get round to emptying them at some point) but there's little else I can do about it, aside from running up the platform waving like a loon as the train rushes by to take her from my life.
Who's going to keep me on the 'straight and narrow' path now, if I ever have a little slip-up with my behaviour? I'm not so confident in myself yet that I don't need a support system in place...
Who will help me with my essay next week, entitled 'The Defeat Of The Storm King'? Silv always comes up with the best words and assists me with my spelling, I may end up having to consult a dictionary and a thesaurus... gulp.
And who am I supposed to confess the identity of my crush to, when she's gone far, far away? I refer of course, to the love of my life: a certain patchwork colt who ran against me in the class election and has the cutest voice and the most adorable little tuft...
Oops, perhaps that's a little too much information. I better wrap this up for now, lest I start revealing even more of my most private and personal secrets. I gotta get a lock for this thing. After all, I know how nosy mother can be, pun intended.
'night all.
Your friend DDT xx
Author's Note
I meant to write a fic based off the events of my favourite episode on it's first anniversary a year ago, alas life and inertia got in the way and I never got round to it. 
I almost forgot today as well, but thanks to a handy little invention known as a 'calendar' my memory was well and truly jogged, so here you are. Thanks for reading! 
Yes, it's me again. Glad to make your papery acquaintance once more, Oh Future Book Of Secrets.
Sorry that I haven't really given your pages much of a rest since the last entry, but I really felt like I needed to talk. Or write, as the case may be. And seeing as you're an inanimate object totally under my control with no independent thoughts of your own, I figured you wouldn't have too many objections. Ssooooo, here goes.
What a surprise... Mother has been on the warpath for the umpteenth time. She's discovered microscopic specks of dirt and minuscule traces of dust all over my room: shock horror. Considering we have loyal servants to thoroughly vacuum and polish my bedroom three times a day regardless of whether the job was necessary or not, I don't really know what the big deal is...
...Oh wait, yes I do. This is yet another sly little dig at my new friends in class coming over to visit. Now that they no longer have to stare through my closed front gate with envy as I luxuriate in my pool, Mother doesn't waste a single second telling me how disappointed she is in my perceived lowering of standards.
If I were still the mean little filly everypony crosses the street to avoid, I might suggest the same criteria might apply for when Daddy married her... but, no: those days are behind me. Mostly.
Silv might've been able to help me out here, but sadly we had a little bit of a run-in yesterday during one of her increasingly rare trips home. I was waiting at the train station, jumping around like I had ants in my pants (not that I'd ever wear such a confining garment, free'n'easy is my motto) and I soon as I spotted that trademark white ponytail and those geeky specs, I ran over to give her a Pinkie-esque crushing hug.
Big mistake. Huge, gigantic, colossal mistake. In the many letters we exchanged during her time away, Me and Silv discussed many topics both big and small. What's hot and what's not in fashion, who's dating who celebrity-wise, whether Changelings looked better before or after we made peace with them... (see, we can be topical too).
One subject that never really came up though was what's next on the agenda for my bestie in her cookery course. Perhaps we just never got round to discussing it, or maybe she's observant enough to realise I couldn't give half a bit for the whole monotonous process.
The last time I tried baking something, let's just say a lot of ponies in radiation suits evacuated the area, put up a DO NOT ENTER cordon manned by armed guards and... well, we'll discuss the rest later. Maybe.
Regardless, my lack of foreknowledge as to Silv's latest culinary masterpiece was about to have dire consequences. I knew something was wrong when she rebuffed my warm embrace almost immediately, looked down in earnest at a bowl she carried, screamed like a banshee (yes, we have those here), before galloping off into the distance at a record speed.
I ask you, dear journal, how was I supposed to know it was soufflé week at her class? That she'd spent the entire journey getting here in complete silence, as the slightest of murmurs could lead to a disastrous collapse of egg-pic proportions? That even when the conductor came to check her ticket, she'd clutched it in her mouth so she wouldn't have to say a word?
I'd thought it was a bit odd that she was sitting all alone in a single carriage as the train came to a grinding halt. As long as I've known Silv, she's always tried to assimilate herself into nearby social groups. Even now we've both changed for the better, she still looks to me to make the majority of the decisions when we're hanging out together. Whether this is related to my leadership Cutie Mark or not who knows, but I must teach her to stand on her own four feet more...
Oh dear, it would appear as though I'm getting a little sidetracked. It's probably because I don't really want to dwell on my best friend's anguished face, the tears she shed while beating her hasty retreat, the horrible looks everypony gave me as I quietly crept away grinning sheepishly.
You see, believe it or not, a few small embers of my past behaviour still flicker on in the memories of the locals. Honestly, you make up a few false rumours to sell newspapers, insult the oldest member of the Apple family to her face and cause a fruity explosion in Princess Twilight's old treehouse and some ponies never forgive you. Isn't building an adventure playground enough to make up for all my past misdemeanours? For anypony over ten, I guess not.
Regardless, I can't be held responsible for this latest unfortunate turn of events. There is such a thing as an 'accident', you know. Random strangers weren't the ones I needed to placate, anyway... Silv was the only equine who I truly needed to beg forgiveness from.
As for everypony else who still held a long-standing grudge against yours truly, well that's their problem. This might be a friendship-based society we live in, but as Daddy always taught me: It's practically impossible to get everypony to like you, especially in business.
Mother said something similar once, but her solution to the problem of losing popularity revolved more around the outlay of expensive gifts, using money that wasn't even hers. Maybe it's best if I skipped that particular nugget of advice.
I rushed down to Silv's mansion as quickly as my stubby little pink hooves could carry me (it was only two-thirds as big as mine, not that I'm one to brag) and tried to get in to see her. Alas, I was unceremoniously notified by speakerphone to "get lost", and I couldn't even drop off a note because she'd sealed the letterbox tightly shut with duct tape.
I mean, who even does that? Well, apart from my parents because of a recent over-surplus of junk mail and begging letters, but it's not a common practice... I think.
Tomorrow, I'm supposed to report to Miss Cheerilee regarding my progress so far in writing this darn thing. What exactly am I supposed to tell her: that in the space of one week I've lost my bestie, shouted at Mother and landed my butler Randolph in the hospital?
...Oops, didn't I mention that already? The poor old thing tripped over me while trying to recapture his glory days on the acrobatics circuit. It was in the middle of a somersault as I was on my way to breakfast, he fell off the bannister and... you can probably guess the rest.
I'm going to visit him tomorrow in the traction unit, though I fully intend to keep away from the rest of the patients there. The kind of bad luck that's following me around at the moment, some of them might be staying a bit longer than they think.
I'm going to end things here, as I have friends coming over again soon and I really need to start getting ready. A full personal facial and hooficure treatment should do the trick... hey, just because I'm reformed, it doesn't mean I don't want to look my best! I'd offer my guests the same procedure, but they say it's too 'prissy'. Huh, their loss.
I do hope Silv can make it. I've sent the Crusaders by with an invitation, seeing as though she won't even acknowledge me right now. crosses hooves
Yours sincerely
The filly who's name is on the front cover
DDT for short.
.............................................
P.S I hope you like your new padlock, Mr Diary! There's only two keys for it: one I carry around with me everywhere, and the spare which is in a very well hidden location that nopony will ever guess. So there!
P.P.S Of course, if you're reading this now and you're not me, that means you've found it already. Well done you! Now, place the key back where it was and put my private journal down this instant! I have lawyers, you know. Don't even think of going to the press.
P.P.P.S Obviously, if it's not that key you used to unlock this book but the other one, that opens up all kinds of other possibilities about how you could've gotten it that I'd rather not speculate on...
AARGH! I think too much. Goodbye.
Author's Note
Seeing as part one proved to be reasonably popular, Diamond has generously decided that her diary is to be continued.
The fun starts here. Well, actually it did in the last entry, but you know what I mean.
