Journaled

Beth had gotten me very intrigued about Cringe, a night of reading from old journals at a local bar. I was very journally in my youth, and knew there was a big box of journals—ranging from when I was 8 and going all the way through high school—packed away at my parents’ house. I cajoled my mom into sending me a couple from my prime middle school years, but before she could get around to it, my dad caught wind of the request and bundled up the whole huge box and sent it eastward, where it reached me yesterday. I got home from work and dove right into a great big, papery mess of my boy-crush adolescence.

I mean, I remember liking boys and having crushes and writing notes about them, but if this box was your only evidence of my grade school existence, it would reveal a life lived on the brink of obsession. To be fair, I know that by the secretive and personal nature of journals and notes, they are a somewhat skewed perspective of one’s life, especially if one is a hormone-crazed, boy-crushing, note-passing, 6th grader. But holy bejeebus there’s a lot of talk about boys. My favorite part of it is charting the progression of the crushes as they are recorded in the journals. There will be a series of infatuated scrawls and intricate details of conversations with a particular person, only for the crush to be completely over by the time you turn the page. There is also this spectacular announcement quality to the entries, as though proclaiming that NOW I have a NEW crush and his name is GRANT was an especially newsworthy event, subject to unbiased reporting and straight-shooting coverage.

Of course, it wasn’t all one-sided. I found a twist on a classic will-you-go-out-with-me-check-yes-or-no note. As you opened it, there were warnings:

Then the kicker:

Do you love the personified boxes? The no box is so sad! Apparently I called him, because we did “go out.” I believe for about two days.

Aside from boys, other hobbies evidenced in these journals and notes include: fights; apologizing, party planning; ruminating on the future; pronouncing the boring nature of school; recording important songs, dates, and schedules; deciding who was best friends; and writing really terrible poetry.

I don’t have the guts yet to look into my high school journals.

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