Every Thursday, I dig out an old diary and share an entry sans editing (in hopes we’ll all see my grammar and apostrophe use improve) with a short commentary. If you like laughing with/at Young Ashley, feel free to use the handy search bar to the right and simply type “Throwback Thursday” and you’ll find the whole archive. Thanks for reading!
Saturday September 11, 1999
This is my last entry in this diary. I’m trying to recap of what I’ve written like in the diary books I’ve read.
This is on of the shortest diaries I’ve kept, it lasted only 66 days if you count this entry. I think its 66 days, but I could have counted wrong. At least that’s how many entries I have in here.
I’ve mature alot, in the beginning of this diary I was really into my violin and my friends. I’m still into violin, but just not as much. I’m more into boys and my friends now. I know my self worth isn’t how many boys like me, but who I am, what I do with my life and how I act. I understand I went overboard with Austin. (Notice the heart above the line in Austin’s name?) ((I realized I still do like him, it was really just a joke, but not funny on my part, just like when I throw rocks at him, oh well.))
As I look back I try to remember the good times with my friends. But I can’t help but remember some of the bad times as well. During the bad times I counted on my friends, just like I counted on that there would always be another page after this. But I realize that sometimes you can’t always cont on your friends, so I’ll trust the Lord.
“Put yourself in God’s hands (Psalm 31:5), remembering that he is good.” (Psalm 34:8)
I really don’t want this to turn into an exercise in self-loathing, but seriously. I thought I was a smarter kid than this. Or at least a better writer than this. I can forgive my earlier transgressions – the articulation of needless plot points, the melodrama and hysterics over crushes, and the terrible punctuation, but the triteness of this? The attempt to wrap up the earlier 66 (maybe more, maybe less, I could have counted wrong) entries in a neat package reeks of an unrealistic sentimentality.
At least I acknowledged my influences. You could say I had the sense to lay the blame on someone else for my sentimentality. You could also say that I thought these books were the epitome of fine literature and I was hoping to be put in the same category.
I hadn’t matured very much through the course of this notebook. I just thought that by being able to talk to the guy I liked meant I was mature. I’m not sure how I thought I could mention my own maturity on the same page I mention throwing rocks at the guy I like. Maturity is truly accepting yourself, your feelings, your faults, and learning from your experiences. If I had actually matured, I would have said that Austin hurt me, that I fell too fast for a boy who didn’t truly warrant my affection (even if he did have really pretty blue or brown eyes) and that it was useless to base my happiness on someone else.
I could have gotten bonus maturity points for telling Austin I had overheard his plan and that it didn’t make me feel good.
This week’s message to Young Ashley: Each notebook is not a novel. Life does not wrap up nicely just because you’re out of pages. Life’s messy. Embrace it and just pick up the next notebook. But for the love of god, please, do not write another introduction for yourself.