Me, at 18
Last night, I was talking about what it feels like, what it felt like, to be a teenager. I really don't remember all that well, or at least, I didn't remember all that well.
I do now.
I am leaving in scant moments to have breakfast with my friend John before he leaves for the Bahamas for a week. Because I actually have somewhere to *be* today, I got up earlier than I needed to, but to compensate, I awoke with a brilliant idea. I would dig out the diary that I kept in my freshman year of college and share excerpts here. I would find the best 18-year-old me that I could and immortalize her in cyberspace.
Except, as I glanced through the diary, I was horrifed. There was nothing of any substance that I would feel comfortable sharing, lest you all think that I was a complete spaz.
OK, I might have been, but you don't need to know that.
I can summarize it for you, the entire thing, all 75 pages or so:
"I like (boy N). I wonder if he likes me? I think he likes me. He does like me! We had a fight. He is an ass. Ooh, I like (boy Y). I wonder if he likes me? He, too, is an ass. I have to write a paper. Writing papers is hard. I like (boy Z). I wonder if he likes me? Boy N is still an ass. My roomate had another fight with her boyfriend. He is an ass. Ooh--I'm in New York! New York is fun!"
I now remember what it was like to be a teenager.
Yeach.
I do now.
I am leaving in scant moments to have breakfast with my friend John before he leaves for the Bahamas for a week. Because I actually have somewhere to *be* today, I got up earlier than I needed to, but to compensate, I awoke with a brilliant idea. I would dig out the diary that I kept in my freshman year of college and share excerpts here. I would find the best 18-year-old me that I could and immortalize her in cyberspace.
Except, as I glanced through the diary, I was horrifed. There was nothing of any substance that I would feel comfortable sharing, lest you all think that I was a complete spaz.
OK, I might have been, but you don't need to know that.
I can summarize it for you, the entire thing, all 75 pages or so:
"I like (boy N). I wonder if he likes me? I think he likes me. He does like me! We had a fight. He is an ass. Ooh, I like (boy Y). I wonder if he likes me? He, too, is an ass. I have to write a paper. Writing papers is hard. I like (boy Z). I wonder if he likes me? Boy N is still an ass. My roomate had another fight with her boyfriend. He is an ass. Ooh--I'm in New York! New York is fun!"
I now remember what it was like to be a teenager.
Yeach.