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.

I’m scared of what I want to become. Surely I had the opportunity for the empty & meaningless, but I passed it by. More like, it passed me by. It never came up. Had it, I would have given in and became that which I despise & criticize most, the Hypocrite.

As per usual, I have no idea what I’m referring to in this entry. But there is one thing that’s clear. Also, as per usual I felt triumphant in apathy. I let something slip by, and then congratulated myself for doing nothing. Lame.