Normally I dread the start of the week, but today, I find myself looking forward to a fresh start and new possibilities.
Yesterday I was going through some things, and came across my stack of old journals. I've kept one since I was twelve years old. As it turns out, I basically have not changed since I was twelve. These journal entries are a scream, so without further ado, here are a couple choice excerpts from my 12-year-old self (who would be cringing at the thought of me sharing this right now):
Saturday, July 19, 1997
Dear Aimee, [I inexplicably named my journals back then, I think from reading Anne Frank. This one is obviously named after Amy of Little Women fame, only I had to make it fancy]
Today has been a happy, sit-around kind of day. Which gives me the opportunity to tell about myself. My name is Megan, I am 12 years of age, I have brown hair, hazel-green eyes, and am short in height, petite in build.
I love to have fun and tell stories and make people laugh. I guess I take after my mom, in other words. There are, including me, seven other people in my family. My dad, 41, my mom 37 or something close to that, my brothers 17 and 15, me, my sister, 7, brothers 2 and 2 months.
Carrie and the people in my cabin are all my friends [I had recently recounted tales of girls' camp, and didn't want you to be confused who these people were].
Those are the basics, I guess. Most likely you'll become more familiar as to what I and my family are like as time goes on. I need to go to bed now.
MeganI mean, have you ever met a more serious 12-year-old? Here's one more:
Monday, July 21, 1997
I'm at Tania's house for her birthday-sleepover. It's 1:55! We're all talking about Barbies--stories about heads popping off, and things like that.
Today was another drag. I had oboe lessons at 8:30 this morning. That's probably all I've done all day. Strange as it sounds, I can't wait till school starts. But I'm tired so 'night.
MeganRemember when it used to be so exciting to see how late you could stay up past midnight? And how we all used to still play with Barbies but pretend like we didn't still have a weird fascination with them? And yes, I was that girl, the one who wrote in her journal at a sleepover.
I hope you've had a good laugh! Give the tween in your life a good squeeze, because obviously they're probably facing a lot of serious existentialism.
Do you keep a journal? Do you have any from when you're younger? Leave some quotes in the comments!