Well, not to me, anyway. I pulled out a book journal and flipped it open to October, but the things I scribbled about are a bit embarrassing. More than a bit.
I don’t look back on my teenage years and think, “Holy cow, things were so dramatic!”
But reading old journals…sheesh, it was like a soap opera on speed.
Not going into detail, but the entry I flipped open to (October 26, 1995) had these events:
- A friend’s boyfriend cheated on her and another friend hit him over it (I later ran over his favorite cassette tape with my car and I’m pretty sure I still own his White Zombie tape).
- Another friend broke up with her bf. As jilted bf backed away, upset and angry, he hit former gf’s mom’s car. For whatever reason, I found this amusing (no one was hurt).
- I thought my ex looked really cute. I didn’t write this, but I’m sure we made googly eyes at each other over lunch or something.
- I made a list of annoying habits about my current bf – I thought it was a funny thing to do (and knowing me, I’m sure I showed it to him, too).
- A guy friend took the entire weekend off from work to spend with his gf. My opinion on that? “Gag.”
And then, no lie, I actually wrote this:
Yes, I realize this is all very petty, but maybe I would like to remember all this years later. Just maybe.
It cracks me up to read about the past because half the things I thought were devastating back then are things I don’t even remember happening. Some I’ll say, “Oh yeah…that’s right,” but others are completely lost, other than on paper.
Maybe the teenage whirlwind of emotions is why I like reading/writing YA so much. Because no matter what I’m going through now, my adult logic voice is always in the back of my head, telling me to suck it up. But that voice was deeply buried when I was a teen. I loved and hated and raged in a way I couldn’t do now.
I wrote back then (some full-length mss, even), and the emotions were there, but the perspective wasn’t. So now I’m trying to balance that emotion and perspective into something cohesive and relatable.