Excerpts from old journals: I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself.

Ninth grade:

  • I haven’t written in forever! I think I’m afraid to let out my emotions. Honestly. Like, writing about love and loss will be hard, but I’ve got experience now so it will all be real, from the heart. I’ve been very hungry lately. I ate four mini cupcakes. OOPS! 
  • Girls are evil and conniving. They are out to get you no matter what. I hate school. I hate “friends.” Why can’t people be nice? Seriously. It ruined my good day. Boo. 
  • AP history is super scary! We have two textbooks and they are huge and there is another book he “highly recommends.” And he wants us a chapter ahead. Aaah!
  • Things I like about ___: His appearance, his body, his eyes, his smile, his hair, he’s funny and his moped is cool.

Oh my god I have to stop here this hurts too much.

Also: I was the kind of person that said “ahaha” instead of “haha.” I used hearts, frequently, incessantly. I said “yay!!” often. 

Also also: EVERY ENTRY IS A CARBON COPY OF THE FEW ONES ABOVE. The best ones, though, are when I found out my best friend started dating my ex-boyfriend who had broken up with me two weeks prior (and had already kissed five girls!), but they’re a little too explicit to publish. High school!

In my dorm's main kitchen:

  • Girl, singing badly: You say you wanna revolution, well, you know! Somebody's la la change the world!
  • Other girl: Oh my God!! I know the Beatles too!!

Caught in a cycle as follows: try to fit all the pieces in place, realize the pieces have nowhere to be placed, feel a sense of freedom, panic, start over. I like road trips, reading everything, making lists and drinking beer on front porches.

Writer, reader, journalist. 20.

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All these things I lived through—the strange and fugitive beauty of the desert and the mountains, the primitive realities, the sky and the sand, so easily dissolving in mysteries and visions. All the quiet common things of the earth I came to love, and the simple and useful human beings—life going on, going on.

— Ray Stannard Baker, American Chronicle