Getting Mortified

[Cadaverous Pallor]

I only journaled a little bit in Jr High and it's not very interesting stuff. At the time I wasn't very good at getting my feelings out, and instead of writing about how I wanted to kill myself, I just mentioned what movie I had watched.

In high school I wrote some bad poetry, but mostly it was about note passing, which was a habitual daily occurence. Ignore Geometry and write a lengthy note instead, decorate with doodles and song lyrics when the stream of consciousness hits a wall, fold it in a complicated fashion, meet so-and-so at the corner of the 400 building on the way way to 5th period and pass off. Every. Day. In 1993 that was the way to social network, at least in my neighborhood.

I've always felt annoyed that my best conversations over the phone weren't recorded for posterity.I adored that the passed notes were captured on paper, and I saved them. Each and every note anyone ever gave me in high school, I saved. Swear to God. If I sat next to someone in a class and we passed notes back and forth, I saved it if it seemed somewhat interesting.

My boxes of notes were my most prized posessions. At once point I wrote a will in case of untimely death and made sure to mention that everyone got their notes back. (remember that story?) I think this was actually evidence of hopefullness that someday I'd get my notes back from them.

I had begun to go through these boxes in recent years and scan them in so I can rid myself of the baggage. It's kinda sad to revisit, though. Those relationships, those conversations, they're only good for so long. Now I've forgotten what those inside jokes meant. There are lots of fun surprises in there though. It's only as an adult that I can see the painful sexual tension a male friend of mine felt towards me. Then, I really had no clue. I wasn't that horny in high school.

Most of it really isn't all that interesting, and it makes me sad to think that all these thoughts that I cultivated and saved, that I thought were so valuable, really weren't worth much in the long run. Sure, there are good memories there, and those experiences made me what I am today (read: A Message Board Participant), but I can feel that childhood misconception eroding away. The things we say and do don't matter as much as I thought they did.

I still wish I could read those notes that I wrote...alas, no Sent Box is available when dealing with ruled notebook paper.

On the other hand - I did write an entire journal about the history of a love triangle (square, really) between me and 3 friends in high school. However, I wrote it after I'd already graduated. I thought it would make for good drama - but I couldn't keep the truth out of it, and I sure as hell didn't want to do a tell-all. That's a problem I continue to have when writing longer stories.