This essay is sponsored by Ioana, who is similarly affected by LiveJournal nostalgia. Recently, while searching in the Narnian depths of my closet, I found my first-ever diary, a small, perfectly '80s plastic-back book with a busted lock. When I was nine or ten, I marred the cover with handwritten bon mots from Ferngully, such as “You are one bodacious babe” and “Awesome use of the language, dude.” Within the pink and teal pages of…