If there's one thing you may know about me, it's that I document a larger percent of my life than most regular people. I scrapbook, I blog, I journal, I make charts and graphs and- okay, not graphs and only one chart, but the point is, I keep track of things. I always have. I have journaled since I was able to write.
This evening, as I still cannot fall asleep, I decided to reorganized my present bags and tissue paper. As I was doing this next to my bed I came across one of the boxes I have filled with cards and old notes which was under my bed. Most of these notes were from 6th-8th grade. If I was anyone else and was reading half of those notes I would think that internet lingo has taken over the world and that I lied when I said I enjoyed Jr. High and had great friends. Some of the notes were good, and sort of funny. I wrote books to poor Pam. Yet, some of the journal entries weren't books. Rather short bits of stories about why I was sad. Sometimes it was because I was just crazy and obsessive. Yes, I admit it, I was boy crazy in Jr. High. I'm not sure if I get addicted or obsessive. What is the difference? Sometimes it was because people were downright mean. I suppose I am just realizing that while my Jr. High bad days aren't anything compared to some people's horror stories, I had Jr. High issues. People made fun of me and hurt my feelings. I had friends making out with my crushes and I was occasionally helping those same friends with their homework. It was an odd-odd world.
So I write this for two reasons. One being that if you are a parent or are one in the future, take anything you find snooping with a grain of salt. Matter of fact, it might be a good idea to write down what you remember about now and then, now. It's hard to remember how strange, sad and yet occasionally awkwardly fine you were.
And two, to repeat that I am happy with where I am. While I would like to stay in college a little longer (but not incur more debt) I am learning. I have figured out how to better handle most of the situations I was once in. And, while my stories are still long, they've gotten better. Is that bad to admit? That they were once worse? Hahaha. And if you want to know what my family had to eat during their vacation to Maine, I'm sure it's in the archives somewhere.