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.

It may be interesting to note that Jesus Christ must have whacked off, just like me. The hand of God moves in mysterious ways, and sometimes in an up & down, back & forth motion.

At least I seem to have a sense of humor about my religious experience.

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.

My grandpa died not a day or two ago and no one’s really sad, least of all me. Everyone expected him to die and in the less than a year since my grandmother died he became a nothing man. Just a backdrop to a world surrounding. He’s gone now, officially. He’s was gone long before the papers were in. I’m not going to die a nothing man. I’m going to shine until I burn out in a flash. I’m going to shock the world and my death will be something. I want to be someone when I die, so I will.

This is a depressing entry for me, because it reminds me of my high level of self-absorption I had. So much so that I turn an entry about my grandfather dying into a diatribe about how I will not go out like he did – which is bullshit anyway because my grandpa certainly wouldn’t have chosen to go blind, deaf and suffer dementia. He wasn’t a nothing man, I was for not learning about him before he passed on.

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 had to admit the truth, because you were brave first. So glad, though, because the truth sits so well. Yeah, I love you, too.

Hmm, we must have told each other that we loved each other. Which is probably the funnest hurdle to cross in a relationship.

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.

It’s nice to find out you’re not as alone as you thought you once were. You’re never alone in proximity or in thought. You’re never alone.

I’ve actually had to tell myself a similar mantra at times when I’ve just moved somewhere or when I’m in a hopelessly solitary mood. You’re only as alone as you let yourself be.

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 think I may be love sick & that makes me sick. I’m ashamed of myself for thinking I might be on another end of a stick that I hadn’t expected to be on. So what do I do? Do I say, “Hey, I’m so sick in love with you it’s driving me insane. It’s like all I think about lately. I find myself arranging my schedule just to see you. I’m really fucked up and lovin’ it!” No, I don’t. And why? Because I’m scared to admit to myself, much less anyone else that I’m this hung up, let alone in love. I started wanting just a friend, and then got so much more. Here I am bitching about being over-compensated. Boo Hoo! This has gotten too whiny over something that shouldn’t be whined over. I’m dropping it now. Free. Live in now.

I really wish I’d said what I admitted I never would. It certainly sounded more exciting on paper.

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.

It’s very early right now, so I hope I come off right today when I lay these words down. I’m tired, but there shouldn’t be too much difference between just getting up & just going to bed. I’m kind of in the middle of the two. Whatever-anywayz. I was feeling very small last night as everyone was passing the bong. Not everyone was having a hit, but they may as well have, for I felt alone just the same. I used to feel that I was so strong & yes, perhaps a little superior, but last night, I felt weak for being there. I felt sad to see my friends this way. Not only did I seem weak, we all did. We all seemed like liars of a sort. I was a liar for staying when I didn’t want to, others were a liar for doing it simply because they fell into it, others were liars for this is all that was real to them. I truly wanted to cry then, but never got the chance, and I’m not crying no either. The time has passed. Maybe I’ve overcome it and next time (for most assuredly, knowing my friends, there will be a ext time) I’ll be fine with it. Perhaps, though, I’ll feel sick of it again. Either feeling would be fine. I hope, though, that if it’s the latter emotion, I’ll have the strength to leave, maybe just for a short while, but enough to get away from whatever inside me is causing this. I love my friends, just sometimes, I don’t love what they do.

I now realize that I felt like such an outsider in this entry because a) I wasn’t high, and b) due to everyone else being stoned they were all in their own world, furthering my feelings of being alone. All that said though, if I wanted to leave, I certainly could have.

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.

This is one of those times when bed feels really wonderful. I wish sleep could always be as exquisite as it is when you feel the drag of complete weariness dragging you down, when the mattress just hugs you so close that you can feel it’s love as you slip off into the sleep that you’ve been begging for. Mmmm, yeah.

As I’m writing this, I’m dead tired. This entry has inspired me to go to bed. Good night!

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 sick and need some sleep. I can find no other way to account for the stupidity of my thoughts. Why am I sitting around, spending my time wondering if what I’ve done is right or how things will be or how the past relates to the now & the future. There is nothing but now, everything else was or will be and is not in your control, so why insist on trying to fulfill a role that you haven’t been assigned? I know, and I mean really know – with a clear mind & good heart that I am doing quite well. Quite Fucking Well, to be exact. In fact, I’m doing well enough that I fell back in my chair to an audience and was able to laugh along with them. When I fell back & hit my head, it was funny. Now, am I going to wonder why the others were laughing? Down the line, will I speculate as to why I fell? God, I hope not. It happened and is gone now. Then why do I do so with things just as inconsequential, just emotional, not physical? The truth is, when there’s time; I think. Sometimes these thoughts carry me, but at other times, like lately, they inhibit. Or perhaps they are good as a way of letting myself know how I’m feeling. I always want the deep conversation with others, but it’s not always there. I want to blurt out a statement that will set in motion the wheels of the exploratory conversation. Alas, things aren’t always meant to be that way. In fact, I don’t always feel competent enough to engage in these forays either. My dilemma of the night: whether to be a social beast with my friends, or to stay at home and rest. I need the rest immensely. I’m going to stay home. I’ve seen the lot of them plenty of times. For some reason, I want to befriend everyone individually right now. I’m tired, but not crabby. I just don’t have a whole bunch to say in a social setting, and I’d like to be a sloth tonight. It’s nice to be a part of the action, but it’s also nice to be with yourself too. I really do love me. And I really love a lot of other people, too. All this love unspoken, just written. Life’s funny that way. Just keep on facing fears, I guess.

I did this free association writing a lot during this period. It was an exercise they recommended in some writing class I’d taken, so I tried it out. Most of the time you get gibberish like you see above, but there’s gems to be found on occasion. For example, the last line here is a great way to live. Just keep on facing your fears, and you’ll do fine.

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 can feel the heat building. Slowly at first, but I want you continually closer. Even if our ribs are pressed together and the air cannot enter my lungs, I still want closer. I can feel the heat building. There isn’t much control left anymore & I scarecely know what is going on. But God do I want to continue without thinking. Just to not think. I can feel the heat building. I can’t sleep anymore, I don’t think I need to anymore. I don’t need much of anything anymore. You make me stronger, because I don’t have to worry about you. I can feel the heat building. It’s keeps getting hotter and hotter. I’m sweating now, I think, I’m not so sure. It’s a dreaming reality that I’ll really only partly remember tomorrow, that’s how I know it was good. Maybe that will all be like that tomorrow. Right now though, I feel the heat building.

Pretty hot entry there, no pun intended. This time in my life was definitely a very passionate one for me physically. God, it’s awesome having a new girlfriend.

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 had a dream last night that these young people were singing something like this to me. I’m just an even seventeen. Don’t have the ½ to tell you what I mean. Still waiting the year to be something. I’m just an even seventeen.

Okay.