I’m going old-school here. As in, 2015 meets 1999. Before there were blogs, there were these little things called journals. Diaries.They usually consisted of a cover (sometimes with flowers, sometimes with baby animals) and a bunch of paper bound together. If you were lucky, the paper was lined. And throughout history, people wrote personal reflections in them. By hand.
When people first started to write in diaries, they likely used quills (i.e. feathers dipped in ink) and wrote about seriously important things like death, famine, and disease. Hard-core, real-life shit. When I got around to writing in my diary, I religiously turned to sparkly Jelly Roll pens in a variety of colors and wrote about boys, Beanie Babies, getting good/bad grades, Sugar Ray, and boys (including Mark McGrath).
When I started writing in my diary back in 1993, blogs weren’t in existence. It’s one of those things I’m going to tell my grandchildren: “When I was your age, we had to write about ourselves with a pen and paper. Sometimes we would get ink on our hand, our pen would run out, or our hand would cramp up. It was a tough existence.” Of course, I’m sure that I’ll have to explain the concept of diaries AND the theory of the blog, as they’ll probably just think a thought and it will be uploaded to some database on Mars (I don’t know! Clearly I’m not an inventor). And while I’m at it, I’ll probably need to provide the definition of a Beanie Baby as well (non-cuddly stuffed animals with unimaginative names and birthdays that made people literally manic and parents bankrupt). Grandma’s going to have a difficult time in this future, I can already tell.
Now I’m using a blog to reproduce and analyze the happy, idiotic, and wise musings of my teenaged self, as painstakingly written with a pen and paper. Thanks to my mom – who encouraged diary-writing, but swears to this day that she never read it – I have annals of world-changing, earth-shattering entries. And when I exhumed these historical documents from my parents basement and read them, I had to laugh at myself. And with myself. While I came to terms with the idea that sometimes I was a rambling nutcase, other times, I truly had my head on my shoulders; something I didn’t realize then, and something this old lady can learn from now.
- Based on my old diary entries, I will give tips, either to my past self, or reflect on things that I can learn from her.
- I’m not going to get serious because I’m not a very deep person. I wasn’t back then, and I’m certainly not now. So if you’re looking for reflections on eating disorders, bullying, war, or cyber-stalking (which wasn’t even invented in my day), then this isn’t the blog for you. And while I’ll try to give more worldly advise than everyone-knows-you-should-have-bought-Garcia-the-bear-instead-of-Quackers-the-duck-as-your-first-Beanie-Baby, I can’t promise too much. I’m the person who likes to read People Magazine over The New Yorker; Harry Potter over Emma; Real Housewives over CNN (that has news on it, right?).
- And since I’m not deep, I’m not very sensitive. I’ll try not to offend anyone, but I apologize now if I do (aka, sorry/not sorry).
- I’ll try my hardest to keep pop references to a minimum, in an attempt not to further age myself, and not to alienate readers who were born after Quackers the duck (April 19, 1994).
- All names, except mine, have been changed to protect their identities. Although Facebook does a good job at exposing people anyway.