Dear Diary,

Today, while mostly uneventful, has been quite disappointing. I usually love every day that i get the opportunity to run my local bakery with my friends and see the kind, happily exclaimed faces of my fellow customers. Today has only been peculiarly saddening for but one reason; which happens to be the letter of eviction I seem to have been sent.

At first, I had thought the sender had written an incorrect address on the letter, so I sent back about said issue. Unfortunately, I was sent yet another letter, which, mind you, was fairly rude and assured me that the notice of eviction was intended for my hooves.

I'm not entirely sure why I am being evicted, but I’ll be sure to teach who ever is behind this a lesson about proper law enforcement.

I now sit alone in my quarters, pulling out individual strands of my mane as I scan the body of the nearby scented candle I’ve used to calm myself from my worries. Though this helped slightly, the avail of my attempt to calm myself was of minuscule proportion.

Oh! How rude of me. I seem to have not introduced myself to you, my dear diary, so, allow me the honor of doing such.

My name is Butters Baker. Everypony usually calls me Mr. Butters, which is a cute nickname, I must admit. If I were to be more assertive in how I present myself, I, perhaps, could have avoided this unfortunate dubbing of my true name. I digress. I refuse to accept it when ponies say I am in denial of whether or not I am truly happy or not (which is kind of contradictory to my intention, considering that I’m denying my denial). I, also, do not cope well under pressure or having to make important decisions. You may have picked this up after I described my little predicament with the candle and the recent pile of mane hairs. Ah, yes, my mane. I seem to have reminded myself of that while explaining my stress-induced mane pulling. My mane is a hue of dark tan-orange to a hue of light yellow. My coat, on the other hand, is a (lemon-like) yellow.

I have decided to start writing in you, Diary, in order to record my triumphs or failures so I can look back and learn from them. Either that or I’m just bored.

Hehe.

Am I aloud to write exclamations of my emotions in ways such as "Hehe" in a diary? Did I just ask my diary a question? Did I just do it again?

I obviously need to get better at this, Diary.

I would now like to explain my surroundings as to better explain my living conditions. The chair I am sitting in is made of a glazed mahogany with velvet seating and back cushion. In front of me, besides you, my diary, is a matching mahogany desk that is about three feet across and stands against a wall on the opposite side of the room as my bed. Ah, my bed. My comfortable sanctuary of soft cushioning that cradle my weary head after a hard days work is composed of, you guessed it, mahogany with a red memory foam mattress.

Would you excuse me for a moment, Diary? After that description I gave of my bed, I seem to have craved its embrace in an uncontrollable manner.

Mmmm, that is much more comfortable, Diary. Where was I? Ah, yes, I was describing my quarters.

Before I continue, I would like to explain one thing: I like the color red. I’m not sure why. I guess I just found it appealing. Even my oriental rug, composed of intricate patterns, mostly contains the color red.

Who made my rug you asked? Actually you didn't ask, you're a book, but I’ll tell you anyway.

My rug was a gift forged by the most caring mare that I’ve ever seemed to come across. She is like a sister to me, in fact, she's basically the closest to a sister to me as one could get.

I'm not telling you her name, Dairy.

Did I just try to block a diary from making advances towards my closest friend?

Whatever, don't judge me. I have too much things that go on in my day to have to try and please you, Diary... Even though you can't actually hear me and I’m basically getting frustrated with myself.

Perhaps one day I may look back at this diary and feel intense waves of nostalgia as is read each individual page and acknowledge the overwhelming, pleasurable, pride as I remember who wrote these entries.

Jeez, I’m describing reading a diary like I would if I were to describe blowing a load on some mare's back.

Did I really just say that? Wow, I really AM out of my element. Sooner or later I may act like those ruffians who stole some mare's breakfast and coin purse this morning.

What did I do? Well, I bravely stood there and watched somepony else retrieve her belongings. Hey, it's not like I could have done anything. Me galloping is like trying to bake rubber. It ends up in a hot mess and makes ponies wonder why you did it in the first place.

Since I seem to be running out of things to say about today, let me rap this entry up with some closure.

No, I am not going to have every entry like this, Diary. I would hate to bore you like that. Instead, I will be writing to you in a narrative style, so as to entertain myself or anypony who may read this diary after me. So, without further a do, I await the time in which I am to write once more in my beloved diary of which I have became fond of in such a little amount of time.

Oh, how fun this will be! So much fun! Just my thoughts, this diary, and me!

Author's Note

I do not own mlp or any characters that are otherwise than the OC i've created.

I hope you likes the first chapter of my new story, Behind Blue Eyes.

remember, this is my first fan fiction i've ever created, so critique, comment, and rate fairly ^^

oh, by the way, here is a picture of Mr. Butters:

and just before you ask who made the art: http://sirchangeling.deviantart.com

here's my deviant art ( yes, i made the pic ;P )