A few months ago, my sisters unearthed my old journal from junior high. A green, two-inch, three-ring binder stuffed with loose leaf notebook paper, it was too heavy to ship from California to Pennsylvania, which should tell you a lot about the kind of girl I was in junior high.

However! This means I get to sit here over the holidays with an enormous plate of crackers and cheese and read through this devastating tome of preteen tragedy and confusion.

Let's set the scene.

At thirteen years old, I'd sit on top of my desk, light a candle, throw on Joni Mitchell's Blue album, and gaze wistfully out the window, past the neighbor's red S-tile roof to the Southern California foothills beyond. In great detail, I'd describe my frustrations, my aspirations, every crush and philosophical thought and embarrassing moment I had. And I wrote it all in a secret code I made up, which was shockingly easy to crack. I tried to keep perspective with a sort of airy self-deprecation that rarely worked. I was a sentimental and earnest child, and I took EVERYTHING. VERY. SERIOUSLY. (Which is completely different from now. Obviously.)

It's truly horrifying to read, and I'm considering chucking the whole thing, but before that, I'm going to share my humiliation with you. I’ve Frankensteined up a typical entry for your reading enjoyment—an amalgamation of the types of things that were on my mind at the time.

Ready?

Sometime in 2003:

Well, it's official. Tyler doesn't like me. How do I know this sad fact? Because when I saw him across campus during passing period today, he wasn't wearing a blue shirt, and last night I made a deal with the universe that he would wear a blue shirt today if he liked me.

Oh, well. I guess I didn't really expect him to like me, anyway. Why would he? I have brown hair. He probably likes Brittany Chaffey. I saw him talking to her one time in fourth grade, and you don't just get over something like that, you know? I only wish I hadn't let myself fall again. It never works out like it does in my imagination. Even if he did start to like me, I’d be too shy around him and then we’d hardly ever talk anymore. That’s what always happens. Well, I won't let myself fall in love again for the rest of this year. Maybe during the summer, but not for this school year, definitely. The falling part is sublime while it lasts; but it hurts when you land.

I went to the movies on Monday with “Gonzo,” Tuesday with “Asparagus” and “Twinkle-Toes,” Wednesday with “Shamu,” Thursday with “Big Bobbo and the Turkey Girls,” and Friday again with “Gonzo.” We saw Uptown Girls. What splendiferously hilarious times! Remember these inside jokes:

• Weeble time!

• Fa-shwat now?

• Bumbles in the bat cave?

• NUUUNS!

I won’t bother to explain them here, because if I am reading this when I’m old and grey, I will obviously remember these supremely important and hilarious jokes, but if anyone else is reading it, well then it’s none of your beeswax what they mean, thank you very much!!!!

I’ve been thinking lately about death.

Oh! I forgot to tell you about the other day! My sister Janet took me to the pool, and she did a back dive. Well, of course I couldn’t let her show me up, so I did a back dive, too. But because I can’t open my eyes underwater with my contacts, I hit my head on the bottom of the pool. I haven’t been able to turn left for three days now! Janet couldn’t stop laughing. I guess it was pretty funny. I can’t remember the names of all seven continents, though, and there’s these weird floaty things in my vision. Hopefully it goes away by tomorrow. We’re going to the pool again and this time I intend to perform a perfect backward swan dive! (Do swans dive backwards? If they do, I will look just like one. Maybe we can all line up in a row and do them one after another like synchronized swimmers.)

You know, maybe I never really liked Tyler. I’ve been talking to Kyle a lot during drama. He always gives me a high five after I come offstage, and it makes me feel all tingly in my toes. I couldn’t have really liked Tyler if I feel that way about Kyle, right? Kyle makes me laugh. A lot. And he has the best nose. Noses are important, you know? If you’re going to have to look at one across the breakfast table for the rest of your life, it might as well be an attractive one, right? I've known Kyle for a long time. Since last trimester. He's always been a good friend to me. But could I actually truly like him? Hmmm.

I’m hungry. My sister just came in and shouted something about beans. She is so random!! But I love her. It is an honor to be her older sister. And now I want beans!

G’night!