I've been keeping a journal for what seems forever. I suppose, like most girls, I started after reading Anne Frank's diary. And I remember reading Go Ask Alice which also inspired me to write - and become a junkie (in the interest of full disclosure, let me just say that I'm rolling my eyes at myself here).
A few days ago, I pulled out my first diary (the ubiquitous locked 5-year diary with six lines to a year, which rule I broke with my first entry evah) and thought it could make for a cool (albeit seriously embarrassing) series of posts. What with 35 journals to choose from (obviously I have no life if I can take the time to write 35 journals), I can take you from that first 13 year old entry all the way up to today, which would be way to close for comfort. But before then, we'll all be heartily sick of this and wishing that that proto-Jazz would just shut the hell up already.
And so, I will be posting excerpts from my journals (wonky grammar and all). As noted, most of them will probably be really embarrassing to me, but what the hell, I spend most of my days embarrassing the hell out of myself anyway. It's a gift. It's my superpower.
June 25, 1974
I got back from a trip to Chicoutimi yesterday (my birthday). I just got you today and I'm going to tell you everything. (not by a long shot baby - that would've been excruciating)
Sometimes I might put "later" because I might not write everything at the same time (because I might never have realized I was writing later if I hadn't spelled it out). Today I'm feeling high. I don't know why, maybe because I've got you to talk to now (that's sad). Well bye for now diary (Never one to follow rules, by now I was well into the third year entry)
Later: I'm reading "That Was Then, This Is Now" (teenage angst galore!), it's a real great book. A while ago I threw a plaster into Nini's (That would be BB - was my name for him for the longest time) paper basket. I was standing on the couch and I got all dizzy and saw yellow and green and red and sort of dots all over. I wonder if that's what it's like when you take drugs. I'd like to try them (drugs I mean) (I had high ambitions when I was 13 - or maybe I just wanted to be cool). Bye diary, see you tomorrow."
July 2, 1974
You know what I want to do Diary? I want to write a story. Maybe I could, wouldn't that be great? (who knew I had literary aspirations) You could help me, would you? (a touch delusional perhaps, this is a notebook, not a person, Dear)
Later: I just finished the first chapter in
myour book, I don't know if I made a mistake trying to write, but anyway, I'll continue and we'll see. I hope it works (it obviously didn't). See you later.
Surprisingly, this journal lasted me three years. And I never did finish it, it was much too regimented with all those yearly entries and dates already written down, it was just annoying.
I was pathetically obsessed with boys, and unfortunately they weren't obsessed with me. Utter humiliation to a teenage girl. What can a nerd expect though? As for those who might have shown some interest (and who I was head over heels in crush with):
February 14, 1975
He started talking to me in English. G told him I could understand everything he said in English. The first thing he said was What are you doing tonight?. My answer was, a lot of things that wouldn't interest you. He looked as if someone had slapped him in the face (Well Duh!) After that he said Do you want to sleep with me tonight? and I said no, I have better things to do. The best part was today on the bus after school. He leaned over from his seat on to mine and said, What about my valentines kiss? I just told him to buzz off. Then he asked again and i pushed him back into his seat. I'm not stupid, I know he was laughing at me. He has a girlfriend. And if he didn't I wouldn't be his choice (Actually, all these years later, I can't help but think I was an astute little 14 year old - plus I was terrified. What if?).
And on another note:
January 10, 1976
Everything is mixed up these days. I mean really, what do you do when you wish your own father was dead. Don't say it's natural cause it isn't, even if he is sick. I'm the sick one.
This is my list of things I want most (it strikes me as both hysterically funny and sad):
1. Dad dead
2. No more pimples
3. To have lots of money
4. Be popular
Of course the first and second will happen eventually (I kept my dreams well within the realm of the reasonable), the third probably never unless I marry some rich guy (didn't happen - but I got much better than rich) and the fourth will probably never happen either (bingo - did I say I was astute even at that age?).
P.S. In typing we got electric machines (gotta love the practicality of that after my list...)
The funniest thing re-reading this journal is that I have no idea anymore who most of the people are. I vaguely remember the guy I blew off, and one or two girlfriends, but otherwise - no freaking idea. Nor do I want to remember them.
So, your call people, shall we continue with this?