I was going through a box and found my old diary, acquired when I was in fourth grade. It has a unicorn on the front, how twee. I wrote in it sporadically for, oh, about 4 years.
From October 20th, 1983 (with all spelling errors preserved):
Apparently I was so mad I could only express it by using four Os in “so”.
Jumping ahead to May 10th, 1986, I’ve suddenly started adding gratuitous curlicues to every letter I write, and dotting my Is with circles. Not hearts, though; never hearts. I never sank that low. On this day we find this sage observation:
And I figured it out all by myself.
And, of course, I wrote poetry. What teenage girl doesn’t? The following poem is undated, but I think I was about 13 when I wrote it, judging from the reference to the Oval Office, which I never paid any attention to until the Iran-Contra scandal:
I was such a cheerful child.
Anyone else want to dig out an old diary and take a walk down memory lane?
Men are indeed peculiar. Such a wise observation at such a tender age.
I didn’t have a diary. I had a little book for autographs, and I asked everyone I knew to sign it. One entry puzzled me for a long time - “May your luck be like the capital of Ireland, always Dublin! Your third grade teacher, Mrs. Stevens”. Luckily I had my autograph book in my sweaty little hands when my dad took me bowling, because who was at the bowling alley but Bill Freehan! Yeah, we were living in Detroit at the time and I wanted to me a MLB catcher when I grew up. Unfortunately, 99% of all Dopers who read this will draw a blank on his name.
But he was a semi-big celebrity back then, not like Mickey Mantle or Bozo the Clown, but I was so happy to get him to sign my book.
This is an excellent thread topic, BTW. Sorry if I hijacked it a bit.
I can’t find my diary right now (ah, the joys of moving), but it was rather amusing. I spent several entries talking about how I would never like chemistry and I would never, ever study it in college. I’m getting my BS in chemistry in two weeks. Then I spent about half the diary trying to convince myself that I really don’t like girls and that I will indeed date this boy I liked and have a normal life. Yeah, that worked … Oh well. Teenage girls should be locked up for their own protection.
Inspired by Savannah, I too scanned some journal entries. Also bad poetry. 1994-2001. I have no snazzy title, sadly. Lots of angst, but no snazzy title.
Savannah, that was the single best web site reading experience I have had all year – thank you for sharing! It almost needs a “Not Safe For Work” warning, as I was laughing so hard I nearly choked.
I was helping my mother clean out the attic, and I was desperately hoping to come across some of my old diaries - I started dozens of them. It’s funny how I never realized back then that I’d actually ever want to read them again years later, but I would love to have some “fresh” insight into what was in my head when I was a teenager.
I thought the world of Scott for a month, then I discarded him and moved on to some other shiny toy. He didn’t reciprocate my puppy love, poor little Elysian
This is from my first grade journal. I’ll go easy on you guys and actually put spaces between the words.
Along the weekend I went on a bike ride we went to park wood we went up that street and came back home we had corn on the cob for super then we took another bike ride it was to chery hollow and the we went back home I was tired so I gook a nap but I didn’t fall asleep.
Also this is a funny entry because I actually do plan on being a teacher! I’ll have to keep my initial ideals in mind.
If I were a teacher I wold teaching good school I wold be nice if someone got thir name on the bord the wold half to stay in for reaces not all of it just part of it
Ooh, here’s another entry about teaching!
When I grow up I wold like to be a teacher I wold teach in a good scool I want to be a teacher becuse I want to meat lots of kids I wold tech fist grade becuse my aut said thats the best grade
And here’s a gem coming from little six-year-old me:
When I grow up I don’t want to get mereid I don’t want to have children becuse They get wild and besides it will hurt to much.
Damn. Bill Freehan. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard of in a long time. Takes me right back to elementary school, going to bed in the summer with a transistor radio, listening to Ernie Harwell on WJR, the Great Voice of the Great Lakes. I’d wake up on the middle of the night, radio still going, earbud still in my ear, but no idea who won the game.
Dad keeps pestering me under the mistaken impression that I give two figs (or anything else) about whatever he has to say at any given moment. I barely have time tow rite this down and if I don’t I’ll spontaneously combust or vomit or something explosive. It is this: I am, as they say, not of the marrying sort. I haven’t told anyone, except Theo, who is sworn to absolute discretion. (Note to Ms. B.: please never hand back my journal during lunch again. If anyone reads this I might as well kill myself.
…
Feb. 11.
Pen pen pen… why is there never a pen when you need one? Anyway. I came out to Mom tonight. No rage, no tears, no disownments, not that I was expecting any. We just talked about the prom, and wasn’t I in love with Anne Marie, and was I sure, and time will tell. Pretty much what I expected; as a doctor, Mom’s pretty tolerant. I told her that I’m not ashamed, just worried as to what will happen if the student body finds out. I plan to go through with the pro forma displays with prom and such, and generally keep it under my hat. And hey, 10% of the guys are probably gay themselves, if the stats are to be believed.
Some of the more entertaining entries I found from 1984, when I was in 5th grade.
Friday,October 12, 1984
Hi Mr. Diary,
I missed you yesterday.
I finally told Angela that I am in love with Chad. I love him so much. He makes me smile and is always so cute with his black hair and tan. I wanted Angela to know. She is my BFF and I don’t want to like him if she liked him, even though I could not stop myself if I tried because he is cute.
Angie had an idea so we took a piece of paper and I kissed it with her lipstick. She put some perfume on the paper and gave it to Chad from me. I hope he likes me.
Monday, October 15th, 1984 (the following Monday)
Mr. Diary, I have to tell you that I HATE CHAD SO MUCH! HE IS A TURD AND I HOPE HE EXPLODES. HE WOULD SMELL BETTER ANYWAY!
THAT IS ALL
Thursday, November 15th, 1984
Hey again Mr. Diary,
Carl is weird. Today he said he would show me his stick if I showed him my fungus. That is crazy. I don’t have fungus. He must think I like mushrooms, but I don’t. They are fungus, we learned that in class a long time ago. Carl is a dummy. He’s been in 5th grade for 3 years now. Stupid.
Friday, November 16th, 1984
Hi Mr. Diary,
I wish Carl would leave the girls alone. Today he chased us around the room and tried to kiss us. I fell down and landed in the rack, right in front of C. who I HATE. He laughed and I felt embarrassed. But I still HATE him. He gave me a green Now or Later. He’s a buttwhole.
In general I’ve always been bad about keeping up with things like that–aside from my LJ, I can’t think of anytime I’ve managed to keep a regular diary for more than a couple weeks.
A few months ago me and a friend were at home in my room, and I decided for whatever reason to open one of my old diaries (I think we needed paper). I flipped through it a bit, somewhat embarassed at what I was like as a kid, but not so embarassed that I couldn’t laugh at the last entry, which ended with “I promise to try and write in you more often from now on.”
I <3 Roger. Roger Ramey Mrs. Roger Ramey Mr & Mrs. Roger Ramey Mrs. Roger Elmer Ramey Mrs. Roger Ramey Mrs. Roger Ramey Mrs. Roger Ramey Roger and DeVena Ramey DeVena D Ramey DeVena D Ramey DeVena D Ramey
<turn page>
Bobby Pilant Robert Pilant Mr and Mrs Robert Douglas Pilant …
Don’t know if it makes it any better or worse, but that charming little ditty appears to be written to the tune of We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel. Your chorus probably would’ve been something like this:
We didn’t light ourselves on fire
Though we had some angst
and our cat’s a Manx
We didn’t light ourselves on fire
blah blah blah
(Yeah, you try rhyming something with “angst”).
Good Lord, that’s the second time I’ve mentioned that song on this board in the last two weeks. If anyone notices, they’ll surely think I’m some sort of Billy Joel freak, forever trapped in the 1980s
