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’t believe I’m dead. When the pressure of life and death are hanging in the balance, I can’t even remember that I’m in the scale. I forgot I could be killed, I forgot I could kill, I forgot to get a weapon, I forgot to defend myself, and I forgot to look behind my back and in front of my face and to all sides at all times. So in this game of life, I basically got hit by the truck. Hopefully, I’ll do better in this other game of life I’m in and all the others I’ll get into. But at least I didn’t get to uptight about it.

Analogy is nice, but details would be better. All I can say about this is, I don’t feel like I’ve been hit by a truck of life in recent memory, so I must be doing something right.

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’ve never been so calm smooth free with anyone, and I’ve never been so casual as I am in this uptight area. And I’ve never felt so lucky as I do right now.

Man, I’m gonna have to fall in love again. Sounds pretty fucking great.

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.

The shiftless and moanless who speak and laugh at the nothingness that surrounds them will not slow me down and shall not quiet this voice that I’ve carved and created as my own. Let them have their smoke and drink and lives to themselves. I’ve got better, I’ve gotten better, I’ve gotten bored and I’ve gotten bored of that. Find me fuckers, if you ever get to this level before I’ve ascended once more.

I don’t know what the deal is with me feeling superior to everyone in these journal entries. In my memory, I remember myself as a pretty tolerant and easy going guy, but apparently that’s not the case.

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.

The best birthday I’ve ever had and it wasn’t even mine. I can’t wait for my own. Still thinking about it gives me the shivers. And the new magic number is three.

We all found out we were in the clear and it was my girlfriend’s birthday. Naturally we celebrated by having sex until sunrise.

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’d rather die alone than be the last to die.

See yesterday’s entry for the obvious reasons for this entry.

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.

Something too crazy that I thought would never affect my life just hit home for me tonight. A small and tiny incident that I always imagined I would never come to know now has implications in my life that could, if they all came true, ruin most of what I consider me. I just can’t accept that any of it would come true. Not the slightest hint of it any farther than what is already true. Why, I don’t know. Maybe because I lead a charmed life. Maybe because I’m the hand of God. Maybe because my fantasies of outlandish occurances never happen. Maybe just because I don’t want it to. I don’t want any of it to be true like I’ve never wanted anything before in my life. For the first time I can remember in a long time, Maybe for the first time, I find myself saying, if there is a God, if you do exist, none of this will happen. So now I find out if there is a God.

What happened was that a friend of mine found out that someone she had sex with was diagnosed with AIDS. That meant that not only could she have AIDS, but through connection, so could a lot of my friends and me. In the end, she did not have the disease, but there was a solid week while awaiting the test results where we were all facing our mortality. Not one of the funner times in college.

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.

Just keep on acting like you want without trying to second guess the person you’re acting upon. If they say back off, then you know to stop. Until then, you have no idea what might happen or how far you can go with freedom.

I don’t know, sounds like the recipe for terminal assholism to me.

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 conceited enough to believe that every word from my lips is true wisdom. I’m smart enough to know that if I think that, I’m wrong and should probably just shut up. I’m wise enough to know that shutting up will solve nothing, for once in a while, I might be right and create change.

I’m no longer so conceited, but still smart and cautiously wise.

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.

So there’s this girl here who I’ve never met, but I wonder about her. What I wonder why every time she says a name, she mumbles it or tries not to say it. I asked her name: she mumbles & I had to ask 3 times to get it. I asked her brothers name, she looked at me strange & avoided the question all together. What makes a person want to not say people’s names? What makes someone avoid even their own name? I don’t think I like it. I don’t think I’m particularly fond of her either. Not proud of your own name? What the fuck is up with that? Not that it matters if I like her, or if she likes me. She’s a passing nobody to me. As I am to her. Oh maybe it’ll be something someday. Maybe she’ll buy be a bagel one day. But until that day, she still can’t qualify as real.

I understand shy people. They don’t want to stand out or outshine others, so they hide with their actions and speech – and it usually works. Then you meet a jerk like me that pressures you into being visible. Actually, I did the right thing. It’s a proven fact that the more extroverted you are, the happier you are.

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 don’t like to fuck, so much as experimentally fuck with.

I’d say I like both about equally now.