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.

Can’t sleep. It’s 4:14 AM and I can’t sleep. I’m tired as hell and I can’t sleep. Why? Every time I find the time to think, it happens; the ideas, dreams and hopes come out. I’ve got this inborn drive to be successful, not just another face in the stupid fucking crowd. So what am I going to do? Tomorrow, first thing, call a meeting. Chris, Ryan, Wiggins & I. Second, get a project. Third, demand a promise of an hour a day. An hour of everybody’s soul to be sold into this project, whatever it is. A job’s not going to be enough. Gentlemen, consider the Apple River the final vacation. After this, it gets tough and I’m going to love it.

Ah, summertime. The time when I felt most bored because I didn’t have classes to keep my mind occupied. I don’t think I ever got any kind of project rolling…don’t even think I called the meeting. Oh, the Apple River was a river in Wisconsin that you’d camp by, then get inner tubes to float down the river and drink the whole way. There was a campground at the end of it everyone stayed at, so by evening it was full of trashed college kids. I didn’t drink but still loved it there. It was like watching drunken Lord of the Flies.