For some reason I decided to un-shelve my old journals and read through them. Now if you could just pass me that book of matches, Thanks.

The first one reads like a cross between some new agey cult brochure (was into some kind of native American sage-burning bullshit at the time. I'm not even remotely native American) and an epic poem on how wonderful, sweet, and absolutely, totally perfect my ex husband was. I was young and foolish...

Journal #1 is some vellum-type paper, softcover with a big fucking peace sign on it. Egad.

March 15th (watch out, Julius!) 1998...

Much of my anxiety has been because of my long-distance relationship with my boyfriend Cole. He's amazing, so full of wonderful light. I've been mostly depressed because we're mostly apart.

After reading this I discovered 2 things. #1, My gag reflex still works and #2, teenage girls are STUPID. "Mostly Depressed"? This crap goes on for AN ENTIRE BOOK, me talking about how life is like some beautiful scary forest and how I draw power from mama earth, etc. I never thought that when I got to be this age I could look back at my former self and bitch-slap her, but I so could right now.

Journal # 2 is hardcover, festooned with hideous purple roses. I remember I bought this at Target, back when Target used to suck. I can't read many of the entries because they got all wet and runny when my car ran into a ditch and filled with mud. If I was to sniff the pages, I'm sure they would still smell faintly of mud. But I'm not gonna.

I think the biggest laugh-riot in this journal would be the "poems" of which I will give you, gentle readers, the pleasure of laughing at...This little bon mot is called 'Blue Moon'. *shudder*

The children have gone home
their laughter lingers
the shadows of yesterday paint themselves
on the dreams of the old
as young lovers stir in their beds
Memories blanket sleep
the sound of the piano,
the curve of a neck in the moonlight.
There we were in the middle of it all,
looking stupidly up at the sky,
All the while you never understood the concept
of a Blue Moon.
Fumbling hands and sloppy kisses interrupted
By the buzzing of mosquitoes who play
slip n' slide on your back.
Briefly dreams turn to prayers
as mouths collide under neon.

Okaaay...What the FUCK?
Only I could have mosquitoes and slip n' slide together. Mouths collide? I'll be busy stabbing myself in the neck.
A funny side note about this "poem", there is a footnote that says "For the Fucker who Totally did NOT deserve this".
I can't remember who I wrote it about now.

There are a few other funny things I've stuck in this book. One of them is a post-it that just says "$80/Ounce". Obviously I was very organized when it came to buying pot. Another thing is a letter my ex's ex-girlfriend sent him that I intercepted. Which is childish and stupid, but I think the reason I kept it was this...(keep in mind I spelled everything verbatim so not to risk the integrity of this letter)...

"Pamela was saying , or catogorzing people today. Lake wanna be preps and things like that. I'd think I'd fall in the alternative, devil worshipping kind. I'm sorry buy my dark side comes from Love of Lusifer."

....

BWAHAHAHAHA! That shit STILL cracks me up after all these years. Poor girl. Oh yeah and Lusifer called, and he's pissed that you spelled his name wrong! Looks like you're going to HEAVEN, bitch!

Journal #3 is as far as I can go without killing myself tonight...I've got a total of SEVEN. #3 I filled up back in '03, when I first moved out on my own. I think someone nearby was smoking crack when I wrote this...

"I rule and here's why:
it would probably take a Nobel laureate to match my mind. Not vain, true. I can do everything. I haven't tried drywall yet, but I know I can do it. *KABOOM*I don't hate my hooters anymore!"

That one I actually like. I had no idea I had ever EVER called them 'hooters'.

There is a lot of stuff in here about my Old Friend, and I read it and cringe, just a bit. There are also lists titled simply "Words I Like". Ookaaay. Let's have a look, shall we?

Spruce
Raw
Accumulate
Leafless
Chortled
Plums

Huh?

More rad poetry later. For now, Wine!

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