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.

And so the cycle begins anew, with one stage barely finished, I go back to the beginning. If it goes well, then I agree, if it’s not for me, then I walk away, the new stage is strange. Either way, it’s your beginning, at the end.

I think I’m talking about beginning college here. It would make sense for the time it was written at. I really didn’t want to go, but was going through the motions of applying with my mom kind of continually pushing me to do so. I’m guessing that it’s my summer before going to college, and my next hundred entries or so are going to be filled to the brim with emotional turmoil. Big surprise, right?