What a nice time! I was broke so I went to a college party with Mayumi, roommate Robert, and the two Justins. The weather was lovely and the two fabulous guys who were throwing the party had a really cool house. I sat in Rob's truck bed and drank beer with the boys, and booty danced in the living room with the girls. The evening was topped off by taco cabana.

My sanity is returning. :)

I realized today that I have kept some form of a diary since I was 8. My 23rd birthday is in 2 weeks, so that would be a good 15 yrs of me writing, and writing and writing. Circa 1990-1995 is in a Hallmark diary with kitties and puppies on it, that Jessie Moore ( now Braswell ) bought for me. My first entry in that book involves the goings-on of my 8th birthday party. In my sloppy, mis-spelled words, my diary began " A dark cloud has ruined my party and stomped on my happiness".

God, everything was always such a freaking saga for me :). Maybe I'll read all this that I write now ( after I print it out ) and say the same thing. Laugh at myself being a drama queen.

What's funny was, the one time I invited Mikeymo to my house when we were crazy love-struck sophomores, the first thing he did was race upstairs to the room he knew was mine, and started looking at stuff...pictures...my diary from elementary school. He read the hilights in a high-pitched voice while I tried to pummel him with pillows. I was so embarrassed but at the same time it was almost a very intimate occurance, letting an outside person see where you came from. Little things like that are fascinating to me. If I see a photo album open on a table, I will look at it. I got Mike back when I made friends with his sisters and they showed me the pictures of him when they dressed him up like a girl with piggy tails when he was 2. So much fun.

But anyway, I guess I had a point? And that was...that some people guard their personal lives; keep it under lock and key. There are a lot of things that yeah, I keep to myself. However, I like writing because by doing so, I am writing my own experience for my own personal record. Even if I don't do anything extraordinary I have a record that I *did* do something, for when my brain starts to die. Writing connects me to other people, and proves that even really different people will have something in common.....we are all humans. And....ok, I just shook my pant leg because I felt something crawling and a cricket fell out. And now I have no train of thought.