In preparing for this summer's main event, I have been looking for pictures. I realized that I probably had some stuck in between the pages of the journal I used to keep. What I didn't realize is that I would come across words that I wrote almost every day during my junior year of college. These words are mine, but the emotion behind them is foreign to me. It is like reading someone else's thoughts. I feel the same kind of guilt you might from reading someone else's diary. But there are some choice lines in there:
april 4, 1998: just given a look colder than pennsylvania steel.
april 29, 1998: elementary school was crazy; always in lines.
may 12, 1998: please do not extinguish your cigarettes in the toilet. they get soggy and are hard to relight.
june 10, 1998: life is flammable.
june 29, 1998: washington state is emerald, hawks & eagles, a million people where a million people shouldn't be, humble as hell.
october 7, 1998: i swear it's like i'm ripping out my own bloodfeathers.
april 13, 1999: i am not a superhero, but i can save your time.
may 13, 1999: my rabies shot got fucked up and i have no idea
what i'm going to do.
may 22, 1999: i rocked all of my finals.june 16, 1999: in love with k.
It reminds of a time where I thought I wanted to be a writer. When I thought New England was all there was and all there really should be. I know somewhere there is more, but I don't know where those later journals are or what words are in them. What I do know is that some parts of it I'd love for my kids to see, and some parts I wouldn't - only because I don't want them to be embarassed for me. By things like pathetic poems written with abundant drama, yet completely voiceless, or how excited their dad was when he got a green car.