The trouble with keeping a journal and not burning it, is that you can go back and read it later.

Alright, I admit, being able to do that isn't all bad. I mean, there is the chance that you've grown. But more often than not, you look back, read what you wrote, and mumble, 'Oh my, I was so stupid then.', or worse, 'Oh geez, I am still that stupid.'

In any case, I was never very good at journal keeping. But I did have a book I decided I would keep to write bits of .. whatever in. I am amused by my anal introduction to a book intended for my own ideas (written 11 years ago).

As I write the first few words in this book.. there are a few things I'd like to be kept in mind: This IS NOT a diary ... This is not going to be neat, ideas are meant to be scribbled .. By no means am I expected to write in this every day .. I am not to go and number all the pages ..

snicker Gawd. I was that dorky 11 years ago. Wow. I was 15.

It's funny to go back and look at these writings, to watch my style change, from tiny rhyming couplets, to the little things that punctuate my writing to this day. short. punctuated. words. Just hanging there, on their own.

Here's a silly one (9/28/1992):

Once upon a time,
Love was mine.
But it slipped
Through my fingers.
Like sand
Through an hourglass.
Like time
Running out.

And another (from about the same time):

So much depends upon
a wave crashing on the sand
making such beautiful music
washing his sweet words away

So much depends upon
a golden precious memory
the brightness of a smile
beside me in the sun.

Oh! To be 16 again....