I have a lot of thinking to do. Within the span of a year, events have transpired which have managed to completely and utterly change my views on the world and on life as a whole. I fell in love, was married, had a daughter, and then the love of my life died. I've gotten to know and made friends with ponies that I otherwise would have scoffed at. I named a near-complete stranger's daughter and for some reason was brought to tears when I learned of this stallion's death, at the hooves of my beloved's estranged brother no-less. I, with the aid of the other tribe leaders, halted the attempted conquering of the three tribes by the self-same stallion who killed the near-complete stranger. And I banished him to a life of eternal wandering with no hope for respite. And now I have three fillies to raise. What a strange year this has been.
I think I'll be taking a break from this journal. It seems all I ever put into it are dreary thoughts. I can seldom hold it anymore without feeling as though I have lifted a tremendous weight which would be better left where I retrieved it from. Namely, the top drawer of my work desk on the west side of my bedroom. When I have happier thoughts, or maybe when I simply have too much on my mind to contain within my skull, I will write again. But until that time. . .
DATED FOR POSTERITY
FEBRUARY THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF THE YEAR TWENTY-ONE NINETY-ONE