I got sick.

I caught a cold from my older brother, which is kind of funny, considering that I haven't had a conversation with him for about 20 years. I guess he infected me when he bumped into me in the hall and glowered at me for having the nerve to exist last Tuesday. Either that, or it's because I had to wash his skanky towels that he threw all over the bathroom. Anyway, I've been sick since the 4th of July, with a stuffy nose, sore throat, and vague fever. I've progressed to the "coughing my brains out" stage of the cold by now, so it's on its way out. I hope I have the cough under more control by tomorrow, because I wanted to go out and get Lucas's food.

Lauren was cleaning out the closet today and I looked through some of my old writing and diaries. I even found some dated from 1986 and 1987. God, what an obnoxious, uninteresting little brat I was! Granted, I was only 8 or 9 years old at the time, but I don't feel any kind of affection for the stuff I wrote back then at all! I guess I wasn't intelligent enough to write passages filled with childlike wonder, stuff that would make me want to go back to those days. I was lame. I was a lame, whiny 3rd grader. I don't think I stopped being lame until I was at least 18, but I was still whiny for a good four or five more years. I wish I could slap my past self silly!

...well, maybe that was a little harsh. Maybe I was just irritated because when I was a kid, I thought I was this great writer(not that I'm bragging, I was a little kid with very little to be proud of), but I spelled so much stuff wrong. I also thought I'd have more sense than to write in pencil. But I think the worst diary entries were from when I was 10 or 11(that would be 1988-1989), where I thought I was cool and trendy, and in reality, I was a victim of late 80's pop culture. Or from my late teens, which I whined and contemplated my navel so much that from reading stuff I wrote back then, you'd think I sat in a dark room 24/7, and had my meals handed to me through a slot on the door. Why couldn't I write about what I was doing, rather than what I was FEELING? I should have written more about conversations I had with people, or what was going on in the world...sob sob sob...I guess that if anything, it's insight on the psyche of a child, but if the child is you, it's just embarrassing. I was such a lame, scruffy ragamuffin. No wonder nobody liked me. No wonder my parents didn't think I was cute...sob sob sob...