Feeling: Nostalgic
Listening to: Paula Cole - Me
Reading/Watching: Me. I'm all about the me-love.

Be prepared. Here we go. This took four hours, first to search through my diary, then to type it all out. You better appreciate it. :)

If you've been here from the beginning, there is no need to click all the links, they just take you to the entry I wrote at the time, which you've obviously already read.

So, I graduated from highschool. In line with my new sense of self-importance, I tried to write a series of pithy observations of human nature and the state of being and other related thoughtful stuff. And sometimes I failed miserably.

I spent a great deal of time talking about my first boyfriend, running the gamut from total puppy-love, to beginning to realize things were going wrong, then eventually the quiet separation and my long quest to get over him. Or, at least, the idea of him. This was partially because of my growing attraction to his friend, the boy that came to be called Charlie Brown. More on him later.

I left for college, terrified. And then I arrived, and life started to make sense. I began to really try to figure out who I was, what I wanted (and what I didn't), and where I was headed. I surprised myself a couple times. Two years later, I've made some, but not enough, progress. But at least I know that no matter what the answers are, I'll like them.

I fell really hard for Charlie Brown. Really, really hard. No matter how much I lied to myself and pretended it didn't affect me.

And then he destroyed me.

And then I fought (and sometimes lost) until I got over it.

I was funny a couple times. I stress "a couple."

This diary has been filled with some of the best writing I've ever done. As well as some of the absolute worst. But I'm more proud of the prose and poetry in this little web journal than all the stuff glutting my abandoned webpage. That might have four years of highschool pen-scratchings, but this is me stratching my way out of a pretty doily cocoon. (If you're not interested in my writing, feel free to skip these links. If you've read it all before, the same applies.)

I acted girly, and had a lot of senseless crushes. (If you know these people, I swear to God I will kill you if you say a word. Not to them, to me. Most of them already know. Why? Because I told them. But I need no reminder.)

I also moped about being single. I whined. I talked about what I thought love was. I talked about when friendship becomes something more. I wished for secret admirers. I decided I was born in the wrong era. I came thisclose to kissing someone.

And reviewing this journal in order to make this entry, I realized just how many times I thought (or knew) someone liked me and I would completely freak and shy away. It was as if, by liking me, it meant something had to be substantially wrong with them. Because who on earth would pick me? And meanwhile, part of me protested, who the hell wouldn't pick me?

Amid the crushes and the stress and the weirdness and the happy days, I went through a lot. One of my friends was date-raped (I was never quite able to write about that. It was just too hard). I tried to publish a book (and failed). My roommate attempted suicide. I realized how important it is to have family, no matter how hard you run from them. I realized I am a terrible driver. My uncle died. My new roommate drove me crazy. I was in a lot of plays, from Chekhov to Shakespeare to the surreal. Osama's thugs killed thousands. I broke someone's heart. A power outage hit two days in a row. I swallowed an entire banana. I took a major step toward independence (and no, the two are not related).

I quoted some songs that still have serious meaning. And I occasionally came through with statements that should be my lifelong philosophy, if only I could stick to them.

It's been a short two years, in retrospect, but I'm so much older now. Thank you all for being here. Please stick around for the upcoming years.

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