Kirsten blogged about her junior high school diary by sharing some hilarious snippets. You can see Kirsten's post here, and my part one here. I'm really glad that my part one was enjoyed by so many readers. Christine wrote a post that got me thinking about my journals with one of her posts. We miss paper. So much of what I write is on the computer. At home, I make sure to have my journal out in plain sight so that when the mood strikes, I can write.

I have had the same leather bound journal since high school and the only thing that changes are the inserts. Sure the leather gets softer and has turned a different color, but I feel like I can't write unless it's in that familiar leather journal. I've tried pretty feminine illustrated journals, but I always go back to my leather one because it's familiar and inspires me to continue to write on paper, even if weeks go by in between.

I used to buy new inserts every six months, and on the first page of every journal I write the months that I wrote in that journal. Now, I replace the inserts every other year it seems. How could I go from writing enough to fill a book in half a year to taking two years to write the same amount? And can you believe that I still have past journal content for a part 3? Do you even want a part 3?

2007:
What I want to do when I grow up is live in upstate New York, in an old house, play violin, write novels, draw wonderful people, photograph wonderful people, drink tea and coffee, read books, walk through forests with animal dwellers, burn incense and oils, knit things for the people I love,...
Why is it so easy to stop loving but so hard to stop caring?
He cooked me pasta and said, "Want to know a terrible secret?" And I knew even before he told me - though I wasn't positive.  
I like the way lights reflect on the road after it rains.
My dad took me to St. Pete today. We  saw the homeless; the ones that yell, "bologna, bologna," and, "the animals." 
[He] told me that his ex girlfriend loves my voice and that she would do a voice box transplant if she could. It's sweet, in a little sister way.
...So I paid him a visit after school. I said nothing I wanted to say. I didn't say anything I wanted. 
21 minutes of silence has gone fast. 10 minutes to go. Our cardboard tent has a painted fireplace and polaroid pictures. I have paint on my hands and it has never felt so attached. (the day I met S...)
Last night on the phone, I don't remember how it came up, but he said "We will have a tree house in Tibet." I mimicked his "we." How sweet, "we." Words like "we" and "us" and "our" sound so much better coming from his mouth. I like them more than I did before.
...Anyway, he said jail is a lot worse than the movies make it seem. There are smells and sounds and you can feel it he says.
On the way here I remembered my personal debate on if trees would be taller if there was no gravity. I like to think that they would be taller, sky scraper height, but even taller.  
(at summer art camp where I volunteered) A little boy from blue group told me, "It's so nice to talk to a girl that actually knows what she's talking about with Harry Potter." I melted. 
The greatest thing about Facebook is the "How do you know each other?" feature. "We met randomly. In Las Vegas, where we got married in front of Asian drag queens and Cirque du Soleil acrobatics. A mutual divorce followed with hangover pills."
Tonight I am hanging out with [him]. I hope he is down for just hanging out and making crafts. I owe him some knitted sushi so he can send his girlfriend some in a care package. I wish I had someone to package love to.
(I used to do this thing where I would Mad Lib "You are..." and "I am...") You are sleeping. I am in love and looking at you.
e////: and it just popped into my mind the perfect word to describe you
me: how?
e////: curious
e////: like, you seem so philosophical, like you want to learn more about everything and person you see
In art 3D, glitter gets in your pores. During blue group, [she] was helping me. We got bored so I fished through the newspaper and found a black and white portrait of a man which I then cut in half and pasted on two separate sheets of paper. I gave [her] one half and told her to  complete the picture.  We sat at the table facing away from each other. In the end we had children crowded around us and a man with alter egos. I ended up drawing a man that looked rather sickly and like a scientist. Her man looked rough and dark and like a western cowboy. We signed them and traded pictures. I can't wait to hang it up. 
[She] gave me a  genuine meteorite. I put it in my wallet. Now I travel with space in my pocket.
If I can't dance, then I don't want to be in your revolution.
I'm afraid of being boring.
There is a little boy in the restaurant whose name is "Jay" or "Che". Personally, I'm rooting for "Che."
Last night we went to Clearwater Beach and swam in the black waters. With my glasses off, where the ocean ended and the sky started was obscured into the same thick blanket.
I would believe anything he tells me. Which frightens me.
I asked what are we going to do during the day tomorrow. He said he'll tell me when I get there. I'm thinking tight-rope walkers and Bulgarian fire dancers are involved.
[She] was saying "I'm sorry" and I told her not to be, I knew what I was getting into. I said, "Well, nothing ever got accomplished without revolution." We laughed. We get our anarchist diplomas in approximately two weeks. 
I hope this helps you see.
Signed, sincerely me.
Kirsten blogged about her junior high school diary by sharing some hilarious snippets. You can see Kirsten's post here, and my part one here. I'm really glad that my part one was enjoyed by so many readers. Christine wrote a post that got me thinking about my journals with one of her posts. We miss paper. So much of what I write is on the computer. At home, I make sure to have my journal out in plain sight so that when the mood strikes, I can write.

I have had the same leather bound journal since high school and the only thing that changes are the inserts. Sure the leather gets softer and has turned a different color, but I feel like I can't write unless it's in that familiar leather journal. I've tried pretty feminine illustrated journals, but I always go back to my leather one because it's familiar and inspires me to continue to write on paper, even if weeks go by in between.

I used to buy new inserts every six months, and on the first page of every journal I write the months that I wrote in that journal. Now, I replace the inserts every other year it seems. How could I go from writing enough to fill a book in half a year to taking two years to write the same amount? And can you believe that I still have past journal content for a part 3? Do you even want a part 3?

2007:
What I want to do when I grow up is live in upstate New York, in an old house, play violin, write novels, draw wonderful people, photograph wonderful people, drink tea and coffee, read books, walk through forests with animal dwellers, burn incense and oils, knit things for the people I love,...
Why is it so easy to stop loving but so hard to stop caring?
He cooked me pasta and said, "Want to know a terrible secret?" And I knew even before he told me - though I wasn't positive.  
I like the way lights reflect on the road after it rains.
My dad took me to St. Pete today. We  saw the homeless; the ones that yell, "bologna, bologna," and, "the animals." 
[He] told me that his ex girlfriend loves my voice and that she would do a voice box transplant if she could. It's sweet, in a little sister way.
...So I paid him a visit after school. I said nothing I wanted to say. I didn't say anything I wanted. 
21 minutes of silence has gone fast. 10 minutes to go. Our cardboard tent has a painted fireplace and polaroid pictures. I have paint on my hands and it has never felt so attached. (the day I met S...)
Last night on the phone, I don't remember how it came up, but he said "We will have a tree house in Tibet." I mimicked his "we." How sweet, "we." Words like "we" and "us" and "our" sound so much better coming from his mouth. I like them more than I did before.
...Anyway, he said jail is a lot worse than the movies make it seem. There are smells and sounds and you can feel it he says.
On the way here I remembered my personal debate on if trees would be taller if there was no gravity. I like to think that they would be taller, sky scraper height, but even taller.  
(at summer art camp where I volunteered) A little boy from blue group told me, "It's so nice to talk to a girl that actually knows what she's talking about with Harry Potter." I melted. 
The greatest thing about Facebook is the "How do you know each other?" feature. "We met randomly. In Las Vegas, where we got married in front of Asian drag queens and Cirque du Soleil acrobatics. A mutual divorce followed with hangover pills."
Tonight I am hanging out with [him]. I hope he is down for just hanging out and making crafts. I owe him some knitted sushi so he can send his girlfriend some in a care package. I wish I had someone to package love to.
(I used to do this thing where I would Mad Lib "You are..." and "I am...") You are sleeping. I am in love and looking at you.
e////: and it just popped into my mind the perfect word to describe you
me: how?
e////: curious
e////: like, you seem so philosophical, like you want to learn more about everything and person you see
In art 3D, glitter gets in your pores. During blue group, [she] was helping me. We got bored so I fished through the newspaper and found a black and white portrait of a man which I then cut in half and pasted on two separate sheets of paper. I gave [her] one half and told her to  complete the picture.  We sat at the table facing away from each other. In the end we had children crowded around us and a man with alter egos. I ended up drawing a man that looked rather sickly and like a scientist. Her man looked rough and dark and like a western cowboy. We signed them and traded pictures. I can't wait to hang it up. 
[She] gave me a  genuine meteorite. I put it in my wallet. Now I travel with space in my pocket.
If I can't dance, then I don't want to be in your revolution.
I'm afraid of being boring.
There is a little boy in the restaurant whose name is "Jay" or "Che". Personally, I'm rooting for "Che."
Last night we went to Clearwater Beach and swam in the black waters. With my glasses off, where the ocean ended and the sky started was obscured into the same thick blanket.
I would believe anything he tells me. Which frightens me.
I asked what are we going to do during the day tomorrow. He said he'll tell me when I get there. I'm thinking tight-rope walkers and Bulgarian fire dancers are involved.
[She] was saying "I'm sorry" and I told her not to be, I knew what I was getting into. I said, "Well, nothing ever got accomplished without revolution." We laughed. We get our anarchist diplomas in approximately two weeks. 
I hope this helps you see.
Signed, sincerely me.

6 comments

  1. Amazing you still have them, I had like 2 or 3 and I threw them out because they embarrassed me to no end. However, I wish I still had them. Luckily, I still have my LiveJournal to glance back and reread of my college years.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I have so many! I keep them all together and if my house ever set fire, they would be the one thing I would want to save.

      Delete
  2. This is great!
    Anarchist diplomas. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Right!? I kind of surprised myself that I actually wrote that. Oh little young Yelle.

      Delete
  3. you sound so mature for a high schooler! i shudder to think about reading my diaries from high school

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I sometimes think I was more aware of the world back then than I am now, I was so observant!

      Delete

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