It's a Great Day for Baseball


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

I have too many journals for my own good. Not only online; I mean, I do have a livejournal and a blog (and an open diary that I only update with things like "blahfuabfbf don't delete this old thing there are too many memories"). But I'm talking papery composition book journals too. I just write in the nearest notebook, not caring that in twenty years I'll have eight different notebooks about april of 2003. Which I have. And none of them are finished.

Another thing- why am I so cryptic in these things? It's not like I'm expecting someone to look through all eight so they can blab to the world about the secrets I had when I was a junior in high school. It says stuff like "4/13/03- He held my hand but he chose the pretty girl." Um...first of all, WHO held my hand? Second of all, WHO is the pretty girl? Thirdly, WHY did this matter so much if I can't remember it happening at all now? You'd think a hopeless romantic like me would remember such a tragic event in my life.

This is all in very angry rant-style because I'm trying to find a particular journal with particular facts in it that I may or may not have lost. I want to take it with me to college but I can't remember which journal it is. I'm probably going to end up taking all of them. That way, I can start my eight journals up again and write separate entries in each of them about my favorite place to eat falafel or the rain that landed on my window or the boy I saw in Washington Square with the headphones that whispered Only in Dreams and how he chased squirrels and I won't remember his name in twenty years.

This only goes to show how trivial my problems seem after they happen.

Edit: Well, I found the Mysterious Hidden Eighth Journal and I found the entry I wanted to find. It only further proves my point that I was, in my youth, afraid to talk to anyone. Luckily, I'm pretty sure I've overcome that. How d'ye do?

Weblog Commenting by