What teenage girl doesn't love talking about herself?
I sure as hell do my fair share.
Pretty much as soon as school gets out most days, I log onto a social networking site and bitch to my boyfriend or a few friends about what sucks and what actually made that day bearable*1. I'm painfully average in that area, it frustrates me. However, as a writer, I never want to write about myself usually. Confusing, isn't it?
I used to keep several journals when I was a kid. Actually, judging from the pile lurking deep under my bed, I kept them up until my final year in junior high. I really wanted to chronicle the 'life-changing experience I was going through', in my 12 year old words and 'look back and revel in awe of how different I was'. I picked up my junior high school journal, read it, and laughed. I spent three years oogling over some stud to the point where I memorized his schedule and drew embarrassing hearts around whenever I wrote about him, guys in general confused me to the point of anger, I exaggerated the smallest of things, things that inspired me back then would have been trivial to me now, and my goodness, I was ten times more naive, if that was even possible. I'm thinking about burning that journal, because of my therapist gets wind of it, it will be more proof to her that there is a possibility that I am bipolar. I went from floral-happy-idealist to dark-moody-angsty in a matter of sentences. Not to mention I feel my face color every time I read it.
I think I forgot about most of those times for a reason. They were incredibly insignificant to who I am now. Sure, some things are the same. But I have entirely different interests, I know more about me, the opposite sex confuses me a -little- less, and I think my concerns now do not equate to 'does generic girl in my homeroom think I'm stupid?'
The times I'm going through right now may be the same thing to me seven years from this period or so. But due to the fact that this is a required assignment, and who knows, December 21, 2012 may kill us all and this may somehow be the only remaining evidence that I ever existed in life, this is my attempt at chronicling my final years in an alternative high school and other things surrounding it. I at least need fifty pages. If I write at least once a week, I should be able to pull this together. Hey, maybe this could also be a good venting tool. Maybe this could tell me I'm pretentious and actually suck at writing. I'm willing to accept either of those theories.
I could write out my life highlights chronologically: from fetus, to baby, to bigger baby, to tot, to brat, to midget, to petite midget, to awkward. But that's been done and it would be agonizing to try to accurately recall a lot of events that neither of us really care about.
I'll be posting this online, so my life decisions are open for debate, though I'm not giving Brad or anybody I know the link until I turn the finished product in. If I gain any followers though that would be pretty fun.
Thus, the snippet autobiography of Kitty begins!
*1 I hate the way that's spelled. 'Bearable'. It has nothing to do with actual bears. I always thought it should be more like 'bareable', but English has a strict set of rules.
