I Read It.

It wasn't easy, but I read that old journal from 1995. It was delightfully wretched. Highlights include sincere use of the word "mackin'" and the phrase, "Really cool Dr. Seuss hats." Both were in an entry about a trip to Six Flags Astroworld with the school band. Awesome.

It's funny how I talked about people and things as if they'd matter forever. I'd use only their first names with no explanation or context for who they are. I sprained my memory on someone who was in a play with me for a few weeks one summer. We never got close and I never saw her again, but she was older than me and therefore very cool. Good thing she's in my journal. On the other hand, it was kind of awesome to see those names that do still matter to me. I mean, I can remember that I met a friend in 6th grade, but the pleasant jolt of seeing their name written down for the first time in my handwriting in what I thought would be a record of complete garbage is different somehow; more significant. I realized that I've ALWAYS cared about this person.

It was weird to watch myself mature somewhat. My handwriting and spelling improved as the journal proceeded into 1996. My ways of thinking changed. I can see why it's important to keep journals, but looking back on those cringeworthy years really is difficult. There were several times when I involuntarily groaned, or shut the book and closed my eyes so tight that the effort would surely block out or even erase the awkward past.

The experience may have started something. I'm now trying (slowly, slowly, and with much emotional anguish) to read other journals that have been sitting ignored on my shelf for years. Someday I want to type them up and add in explanations and what I learned, and even explanations of what I really meant and of who these people are. As they are, the journals are of little use to me or to posterity. Anyway, adding footnotes is better than burning them.