Number one: I had an awesome night with my roomie last night, Alyssa Hintzen. :) Thanks lyss.
We went to Bar Louie and Casablanca to hang out. Very fun.
Next: I read some of my journal last night. So I've had this journal that I've written in since I was 6 years old. SIX. I could barely write at 6. I definitely could not spell correctly or make grammatically correct sentences. But that's the awesomeness of it. At 6 years old, you have a minimal filter of what you say. You say what you feel and mean. I would write about the most exciting things to me. Which were SO simple. Besides the fact that I've lived in 7 different cities/towns since I was born, so my journal follows my experiences through each of the different locations. Not to mention the places I've gone on vacation to and experienced that I also wrote about. It is so nice to be able to look back and remember things that I would have forgotten about but no, I have them written down. I read the very first few pages of my journal, which was quite an experience. At points, I had no idea what I was trying to say or what some words were. It is so unedited and raw. I wrote about certain people that made me extremely mad, I wrote about my family problems, about friends and teachers that made my childhood horrible, but it's awesome that I wrote about it to remember how my life was at certain points.
I really want to write a book of my journal sometime, but I don't know how to do it. Nobody's read my journal before so I don't know how to expose it. I don't want to include anything that would personally hurt anyone, but I do, because it was my journal and part of my life. But what's the point of writing a book, if I continue to record my memories and experiences? My life certainly isn't over :) I might be writing in my journal on my death bed. It gives me an escape to think about things. Just like blogging. Except the whole world can read my thoughts--creepy.