10 Aug many many moons…
Part of my simplifying project has led me to read through old journals… this has proven to be rather hilarious, as I dug through those boxes and rediscovered me… at age 13.
13 year old me was a terrible speller.
13 year old me was angsty as shit.
13 year old me had a very fickle heart… I was seriously in love with a different boy nearly every week.
13 year old me (briefly) “went with” a boy 3 years older… my first kiss. My first French Kiss. (I remember it not so fondly. He had a horrible tongue. Blargh. I was terrified when the time came to kiss my next boyfriend. Fortunately, that kiss was much better!)
13 year old me wrote a lot of short stories. fantastical. magical. otherworldly. 13 year old me thought they were amazing. (they were not. they were crap.)
Additionally… 13 year old me went monologue crazy. Inspired by The Breakfast Club, my drama teacher had each of us write a monologue, he then selected a handful of students to perform their monologue before the entire school. I wrote one…then another…and another and another. I had scads of them.
13 year old me thought she had a very plain and boring face.
13 year old me had a LOT of best friends. (I still do, actually.)
13 year old me had every intention of “…waiting for marriage” (I didn’t.)
13 year old me lashed out vehemently at a particularly horrid troll of a substitute teacher who dared call her a big mouth. “I’m really, really pissed off! … I am NOT a big mouth! I’m SO sure!”
42 year old me had a rather enjoyable giggle or two reading about the girl I was several yesterdays ago… and quickly thanked the stars that I am no longer… thirteen. years. old.