blogger in training

I started journaling in 6th grade. I received a journal for Christmas, and in true perfectionist fashion, I started on January 1st and forced myself to write every single day no matter what for two years straight. After that, I came to my senses a bit and realized that this:

does not count as a journal entry (let alone two!), even when you have absolutely nothing to write about. I also realized that I needed to give myself grace and let my journal become a friend rather than a task master. So although I wrote less and less, I kept writing. Over the past eighteen years or so, I've filled all of these journals.

Well, in reality, I filled all of those journals but one in ten years and have taken eight years to fill the last one. Yes, eight years. Clearly life has sped up, leaving little room for written reflection.

The other day, Harriet brought out one of my journals and said, "Mom, did you write this book?"

I have to admit that I felt a bit proud, saying, "Yes...I actually did."

I started paging through it. I knew it would be cringe-worthy but I didn't realize it would be this cringe-worthy. I knew I had to share some of these entries with you. Let me warn you. They're bad. (If you can't read them, say so in the comments and I'll add translations.)

I definitely remember wearing my mom's clothes, but I'm pretty sure she steered clear of my Limited Too and Northern Getaway stuff.

Yep...very weird...and I still do that chips thing sometimes.

Clearly I was bitter about my bad haircut.

Yep, I've seen so many people write in that square-ish handwriting.

Update: Echo never learned to talk. Also, she's dead.

A hug that lasts a lifetime? Um...no thanks.

What the heck am I even talking about? Sounds like I have been spending way too much time looking in the mirror and way too little time working on my spelling.

Clearly pre-Google.

Good story.

Hate to break it to you, 12-year-old self, but...you don't become a brain surgeon. 

Another potential explanation for the bitter, anti-Valentine's Day rant above.

Boys, makeup, trends...who needs it!?!?

Yes, I still feel this way about Titanic. And yes, it was awkward to see it with my dad.

Wanted: Overconfident girl for lead role in famous Broadway musical. No singing talent necessary. Church drama team experience preferred. 

Clearly...excellent taste. 

I'm about to have a spaghetti pill and then take a nap on straight-up air.

Totally fell for it.

Easily the most embarrassing one so far.

Spoke too soon. This is more embarrassing. Well...it's a tie.

Update: a day of not crossing my legs did not prevent varicose veins. Shocking.