Dear Diary

If I'm ever feeling too full of myself (which honestly if you teach school you almost never are since getting up in front of a room of teenagers pretty much guarantees someone thinking you're an ass or a geek or a whatever and thus does not exactly put the bloom on your self-esteem rose some days.... yes, I know teachers who seem to never feel that way, never own up to a single awkward moment, but honestly I think they're definitely too full of themselves and that, folks is certainly another story that involves dividing all teachers into two basic categories - those who loved high school and were queen bees of everything and those like me who tolerated it until they could move on to the rest of their life which was so much better of an adventure) all I have to do is pull out that remnant of my geeky self past - the diary I kept during grades 6-8.

It is, as one would expect, filled with the angsty drivel of my junior high self. Page upon page of unbridled longing for some guy named David who at this moment I can't even picture in my head except that he had dark hair, I think. Endless post mortems of parties I went to. Even more endless angst during the couple of months when I was thrust into social Siberia for befriending someone everyone else decided they didn't like and the crappy things I did to regain favor from people who absolutely didn't deserve it.

But somehow, I've never burned the darn thing. Because I don't think it's a bad thing to remember how that all felt. So good and bad and horrible and wonderful all at once. So much feeling you thought you'd die from it.

So David, no last name, wherever you are - if you're wearing a black hoodie and ancient jeans, well so am I. It's a sign, David. Just like in seventh grade when we both wore blue on the same day two times in one week.

Anyone else have humiliating diaries lurking in their t shirt drawer??

Til next time...