I loved the idea of this assignment, but by Monday night it had fallen off my priority list. Come Friday morning before homeroom, I’d be scrawling barely legible entries for the previous week, writing whatever came to mind. I imagine that made it pretty revealing, true and reflective of who I was.
At the end of the school year, Mr. Brown told us that there was one person whose journal he always looked forward to reading. He said that no matter how eventful or blah the week had been, this person was always railing against some injustice or otherwise in a froth. He found this person’s entries highly entertaining.
I knew he was talking about me before he said my name, and I was a combination of mortified and pleased. I was amazed that my thoughts could be anything but boring in anyone’s eyes, but shamed by what I knew to be my rampant ego and shocking temper. It isn’t big or clever to be complaining all the time, even if the fury manages to amuse another person – I knew that when I was 13. Self-regard feels so good on the way out and so bad when it’s rubbed in our face. The fact that I ended up a blogger shows that I didn’t learn my lesson.
Things that it is in my nature to be, that I fight against being because it makes me happier not to be them:
4) A loner
4) A blogger
I mean, not to play to stereotypes or anything.