I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Today, I realized my friends are my life. Separated from them, I think I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. Life is passing by like a bullet train. I’m standing on the tracks with ticket in hand weeping. Why won’t life wait up?

I like how this entry starts off with something genuine, but rather than expound on this heartfelt statement, I quickly move into self-pity and then a shitty simile. The next time you see someone crying, feel free to quote this to make them feel better. “It’s okay, buddy. You just gotta stop weeping and get on that bullet train.”