Cringe

 

Life is over! All of my dreams have been thrown on the floor. Shattered. Mutilated. Broken into millions of pieces! Bill likes Kara Jones, of all people!

Andy asked me if I would wear his I.D. bracelet and I've only known him for, like, two days!!!

Janet Jackson was on the American Music Awards last night. She sang and danced to "Control". It was really cool!!!

Last week a guy from my high school died of cancer. Even though I graduated with a small class (80 kids), I couldn't remember who he was, exactly. So I dug out some old year books. And with them, in a box labeled Angie's Childhood, I found several spiral-bound notebooks--journals I had to keep for for my seventh and twelfth grade English classes.

I've never been much of a journaler on my own. So I was happy to come across these. Until. I actually started reading them. The thirteen-year-old me was sweet and sheltered and concerned with grades and friends and family. Lots of things happened that year that I only vaguely remember: my uncle getting a cornea transplant, my mom spending eight days in a hospital, my sister deciding she hated me (with good reason, I was a tool to her). But most of my entries are spent agonizing over basketball games I (barely) played, scores, being, really, really excited for Halloween and Christmas, etc.

And then comes my Senior Year journal. In which? I was a moronic, dramatic, boy-crazy spaz. Did I mention boy crazy? Every entry, and I'm not exaggerating even a little, detailed the daily encounters with, or snubs by my crush. My spirits soared or my heart shattered across the pages in overly-swoopy, bubbly letters.

Reading them, I winced. A lot. I might have even buried myself under the couch cushions and whimpered a little.

I act depressed, but sometimes I don't and I think people worry that I'm going crazy.

Bill was hanging all over Kara. It was awful! They danced slow even to fast songs. Greg kept asking me, begging me, to slow dance. It's like, be real, I'm about a foot taller than him.

I got new shoes last night. Royal blue penny loafers and they kill my feet, but I don't care!!!

Bill asked me to dance!!! :) It was so great! It was to "Walk like an Egyptian" by the Bangles.

I think I bombed a Physics test because I didn't study. My dad will be mad!

Bill never called. But I didn't really think he would. I feel like such a reject!!!

Comments

[Corinne]

It's funny that you wrote about this, because I actually have dedicated a blog to re-posting my old journals. It definitely can be cringe-worthy, but it's fun to look back on and see how much (or how little!) things have changed. :)

[kcinnova]

I stopped writing in a journal when my younger brother found them and read them! Yikes!!
I did find one a while back, and I was mortified by teenage thoughts.

[maggie]

This brought back some serious memories for me of my high school journal writing. Oh, the angst! I still have them somewhere in a box in the garage. A few years ago I read through a few of them....still deciding whether or not I need to burn them before my daughters get a hold of them.

[Crisanna]

I think it's fantastic that you still have them and can one day share them with your own daughter! I remember feeling tinges of jealousy upon finding out that a friend of mine was able to read her mother's teenage journals. She learned that they actually had a lot more in common than she'd ever realized - I would've died to have had that kind of connection with my own mom.

[foolery]

Oh, the horror. Unlike you I well remember EXACTLY how big a dork I was on paper (and, by extension, in every waking breathing moment of my life up to and including age 29). I think -- hope, pray, bargain with the gods -- that I had the good sense to turn my ridiculous old journals into hamster bedding long ago. Yours sound infinitely more interesting than my memories of mine. I suddenly need a disguise.

[Leslie]

I wonder where all of my angst-filled journals ended up. I have lots of boxes of junk, I am imagining I will come across them to discover my own past.

I have memories of going through a couple of them with a sharpie when I was probably 19 or 20, crossing out things I wrote that were never to be read by anyone. Even me! I wonder if I tossed them out? You've got me thinking.... hmmm.