You wouldn't think losing the journal I kept when I was fourteen would make me sad, would you? I mean, aren't we supposed to shun the girls we were at fourteen? Isn't that supposed to be a really whiny/angsty/blahblahblahlifesucks sort of age that we want to just forget about as quickly as possible?
And most importantly for those of us who adore the written word, aren't we supposed to disown what we wrote back then?
Well I haven't. Any of it. Not that my life was perfect or my writing was great or anything like that, but aside from the whole catastrophe of omg-part-of-my-life-is-gone-now!, my age fourteen was actually not awful. It was interesting. It was good.
I was in AcaDec!
I was in high school!
I had a group of friends!
I liked a guy who really was very full of awesome!
I spent hours with Bradley and Madley and my marvie sister playing Monopoly!
I discovered The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants!
So as you can see, what with the acadec/school/the boy/friends/cousins and Monopoly/books, my age fourteen was actually not so sucky. It was kind of awesome. And sometimes my eighteen year old self still misses my fourteen year old self. Is that pathetic? (No answer required.)
Maybe I'll eventually find it. Hopes so.