Autobiography, the sequel

I kept journals in high school, with the idea that someday when I was rich and famous people would clamor to know what my life was like in the '90s, and my journals would give them a window into my soul. Right. Reading back over them, even I don't know what my life was like--and I lived it!

There were times when I was intentionally vague, lest my journal fall into the wrong hands (from July 28, 1990--"Things happened tonight which I don't really feel like writing in here. Or anywhere else, for the time being."), and times when I skipped a lot of detail because I was naive enough to think I'd always remember something that at the time seemed so important (from July 26, 1990--"Found out lots of new and interesting info about [the boyfriend I had at the time], which I won't share with me because I already know it. Ha ha.").

And of course all of the journal entries have an overly dramatic, teen angst-ridden tone to them. I can barely stand to read it, so I don't know why I ever thought anybody else would be interested.

Will I look back at this blog when I'm an old lady and and cringe at how dumb I sounded when I wrote it? Probably. But by then I'll be rich and famous and people will be clamoring to know what my life was like in the '00s, and my blog entries will give them a window into my soul.