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.

When I was young, I didn’t dream of receiving flowers, jewelry or of big weddings. Perhaps that’s what girls dreamed of and that’s why it makes them so happy to have them. I dreamed of rescuing girls in dire distress of freeing women of their bonds so they might love me.

I soon came to the conclusion that damsels trapped in castle towers come rarely, I set my sights to more earthly goals.

I always wanted a girl that would get me something fantastic for Christmas. Not expensive or unique, but something I would love. She wouldn’t have to ask “What do you want?” She would know.

And I would understand her just as easily as I do my best friends. Shopping would be easy.

I’m looking… I’m looking.

I guess you could say I’m still not materialistic. The accumulation of valuable stuff just doesn’t excite me. And amazingly enough, I still secretly judge people by the gifts they get me. I had a girlfriend who always bought me lavish gifts that kind of made sense. I said thank you, but wasn’t really thrilled. I’d rather have had a painting of owls in sombreros at a tree bar drinking margaritas because that’s hilarious. I’m looking… I’m looking.