When I was fifteen, a year was an eternity – long enough for me to become “a completely different person”. I’ve always had a morbid inclination to nostalgia. Upon turning ten years old, my diary entry lamented the fact my age would never be a single digit again. In this entry, I mournfully reflect on where I was less than eleven months ago – “Gone forever, now.” (Or was this a premonition? True Fact: Jefferson Jr. High is literally gone forever, now, razed to build office buildings.)
Time accelerated as I aged. I wish years still crawled like they did when I was fifteen but instead they fly. Preferring Paul McCartney to Mark Lindsay is no longer grounds to dissolve a friendship.
One thing remains the same – my fascination (some might use the word obsession) with the past. Why else would I blog about old diary entries?
It was a thrill to connect with a few other people (Rebecca Dormire LaRussa and Robin Rutan Russell) who lived through the momentous election of 1964 (not Goldwater-Kennedy, the Jefferson Junior High election for student body officers.) This could never happen without Facebook; the fact that it happened so easily, with my very first diary-blog, reassures me this effort is worth it. With luck, I’ll connect with other people whose paths crossed mine. (Hopefully, these diary entries won’t hurt anyone’s feelings. I could be a catty little bitch in the privacy of my diary.)
