Let me tell you something: Reliving the past? Not such a good idea.

I've kept a journal since the second grade. Age 7. That's eighteen years we're talking about, of hand-written, first-person accounts of my life. And it's all stored nice and neat in a collection of books in a gray plastic tote in my parents' attic. And every time I come home — yes, every time — I go looking for that box and open its lid like it's the Holy Grail, golden light showering my face as I peer inside. Then I sit, like the masochist that I am, and pull out one of the books at random. I flip open to a page and begin to read, often without even looking at the date. It usually begins quite pleasantly, as I recognize names of friends or laugh at how I am, and always have been, a horrible speller. And then I read too far, for too long, and I get sucked back to 2003 and my ridiculous sophomore behavior of liking this boy and disliking this girl and trying to make sense of things that I still haven't made sense of. And instead of shoving the box back into its dark attic corner, I pull out another book, hoping this time it'll be more like a Disneyland ride instead of a middle-of-nowhere-mining town carnival ride from Hell. Luckily I bi-passed that bit, but unluckily I opened to what is sure to be the script for High School Musical 4: The College Years. How many boys could I like in the span of 3 months? I'll tell you: Four. Yes, four. And how many dates can end awkwardly? I'll tell you: All of them. And let me tell you another thing, Zac Efron wasn't even close to being in this script. Not even close.

I don't want to relive the past, not until I'm 94 years old, in a nursing home, afflicted with horrible memory loss and dementia and somebody pulls out those mismatched journals and begins reading them to me as if they are someone else's life and then I can laugh and laugh and ridicule that poor, pathetic person completely unawares of my self-deprecating comments.

That is how to relive the past, my friends. Otherwise, don't do it.

Unless Zac Efron was part of it. Because, well, then, maybe it's worth a shot.


1 comment:

  1. That's why I don't bother reading my old journals...I was (am) an idiot. I already know that. No need for more proof.