This is the last book in a series of high school journals I uncovered in the basement. I have to admit, I'm kind of sad to see the series end. I had so much fun rereading these journals. They were so much more, er, action packed than I remember my actual high school life being. I mean, in my memory I recall dating such-and-such boy for 6 months, another for a year, and generally speaking I loved some and fooled around with others. But I never held in my mind a detailed account of EVERY SINGLE sexual experience from my teenage years. Now I have just reread them all, along with several philosophical diatribes and too many daily menus to count. I feel like I just finished reading a mash-up of Sweet Valley High meets 50 Shades of Gray meets French Women Don't Get Fat. But with more angst. The following quote probably sums up the series best:
Oct 2, 1998
I have a marvelous crush on a freshman in my Drama class. Although now that I've made a big show out of flirting with him (and a mighty good show too), it's starting to dilute - you know, lose intensity. Which is kind of sad but good in a way too. Good for practical reasons, but bad because what do teenagers love more than their intensity?
In this last journal I am a senior, I can drive, and I act like a cougar towards unsuspecting underclassmen. But I still pine after one special boy. Here's me in one of my rare moral moments:
Oct 7, 1998
I want to marry Dan. I love Dan. I decided I want my life to be holy. That means real decisions like waiting for marriage to have sex. But only if I'm going to marry Dan. I don't want to save myself for anyone who isn't a virgin.
Oh if only they taught game theory in high school. But when the man you plan on marrying is a senior in college 6 hours away, moral conviction is short lived.
Oct 22, 1998
K finally kissed me today. It was so awkward, it brought me back to the days of 8th grade and not knowing what to do. I had assumed I was done with that. Well, K I guess still isn't over it. He kept brushing my hair out of my face, and then stopping there. Then finally in a lul in the conversation when I wasn't even looking at him, he grabbed the back of my neck and shoved his mouth into my face.
Poor little thing, turns out he had never kissed a girl before. The awkwardness doesn't last for too many pages, though. Apparently I was a really bad influence on him, or a really good influence depending on the way you look at it.
Oct 31, 1998
The first noteworthy thing of the evening is attributed to K. Taking probobly a tip from me, he started with his mouth on my stomach and moved all the way down... [3 paragraphs deleted because this is a family blog]... A great time was had by all.
Yet even as I was corrupting the younger generation my heart was elsewhere:
Nov 25, 1998
I'm leaving tomorrow morning to celebrate Thanksgiving. K was very sad to see me go, and we ate lunch together and then later he came over my house to see me off. Right before he came, I found out that Dan was home, so then I kind of felt guilty about spending the time with K. Then Dan came over after dinner, and I was sooooo happy to see him. At the same time, tonight hanging out with Dan I felt weird because I knew that if K got a picture of what we looked like together he would be upset. I was trying to avoid making actual lip contact with Dan, but as he said after we kissed, "I guess that was unavoidable."
The following year I went to college and Dan went into the working world. I don't have as much primary source material for the next half decade, but we know where that story ended up generally speaking.
The book ends in the last year of the last millenium. As much as I've written so far, as much as I've talked and talked and talked about myself, I STILL don't feel like anybody knows me. I still don't feel either heard or understood.
Jan 12, 1999
School is stressfull, and so is my relationship with K. Sometimes I feel as if he doesn't really know me. I feel like I want to have a conversation with him: what was your most painfull memory? Have you ever felt really lonely? How do you want love to be? That sort of thing would fill me somehow. Gosh, I wish I knew more words so I could describe what's going on inside. Writing doesn't do it justice.
I'm sorry Leah. If your writing doesn't sufficiently describe what's going on in your head, then there is NO amount of writing that will do it justice. In the arena of melodramatica navel gazing, you just have TOO MUCH PROSE TO GIVE. You have two choices in life I guess: learn to be less crazy, or become a blogger.