The following are a collection of entries from the journal I have sporadically kept over the years. The sentences appealed to me and may or may not have been taken entirely out of context in their transition from paper to interweb:
I jumped into the pool, fully clothed. It was cold.
1/16/04
Is it bad that I cannot remember his name or what he looked like?
7/02/04
There is something beautiful about the highway at night. Well, at least after you've been smoking pot there is.
12/16/04
If my life were a song, I think it would be something by ABBA. A melody that is chipper and up-beat with lyrics that are surprisingly somber. My life is the music of a 1970s Swedish pop group.
4/28/05
It reminds me of the time, when I was four, that I burnt a hole in my sisters winter coat with a sparkler. Did I want to set her on fire? I am not entirely sure.
12/30/05
note to self: telling strangers about situations that may cause you to lose control of your bowels is not a good way to break the ice.
6/19/06
I miss you most on cold nights. Who will keep my feet warm now?
2/10/07
I jumped into the pool, fully clothed. It was cold.
1/16/04
Is it bad that I cannot remember his name or what he looked like?
7/02/04
There is something beautiful about the highway at night. Well, at least after you've been smoking pot there is.
12/16/04
If my life were a song, I think it would be something by ABBA. A melody that is chipper and up-beat with lyrics that are surprisingly somber. My life is the music of a 1970s Swedish pop group.
4/28/05
It reminds me of the time, when I was four, that I burnt a hole in my sisters winter coat with a sparkler. Did I want to set her on fire? I am not entirely sure.
12/30/05
note to self: telling strangers about situations that may cause you to lose control of your bowels is not a good way to break the ice.
6/19/06
I miss you most on cold nights. Who will keep my feet warm now?
2/10/07
3 comments:
I'm liking the new lay out Megan! And I think I like these more without a set context :)
I have always been easily influenced. When I was four, my older brother passed out while we were watching a late night TV show about tattoo artists. I drew all over his face with purple marker pen before I went to tell anyone; he's never forgiven me.
Does your sister read this blog?
Ummm, not to my knowledge. I am not even sure if she knows of its existence. But, either way, she would not be shocked that I may have, at one point in time, wanted to set her on fire.
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