Auto-Blogstalking Revelations: Part One - The Lost Year
No room left to move in between you and I
After discovering the magic of the "history" function of my old blogging site, I spent most of my evening brushing up on PastCathi. The musings on the sheer lunacy of PastCathi will be revealed in Part Two.
There's not much that I remember about my freshman year in high school. The blog I kept that year died when the blogging site I used went under, and I kept no physical diary, so it's almost impossible to even jog my memory. I can pretty much accurately describe myself for most of my other conscious years, but my freshman year is, frankly a mystery.
I have a few memories of things I did. Being lab partners in Biology with Myron Lo. Being HDA partners with Missy Grahn and having to do a Jersey accent. Auditioning for the Harry Potter Group Interp. Being at State for said GI. Watching Brian Barber throw Renee Meschy over his shoulder one day after school and being insanely jealous and wanting to fit in. Doing the Velveteen Rabbit with Miranda. "Going out" with Cameron, finding out he was only 12 years old, never officially breaking up with him (so, technically, we're still together). Eating homecoming dinner at the Heald's. Riding the bus. Getting two PM schools my very first day of high school. Never wearing a tanktop again after some outspoken chick in World History cat-called that I was showin' some cleavage. Being twins with Allison Frost in the One-Acts. Dancing in the rain with Sam Alaimo.
But what I don't remember, at all, is who I was. I don't remember what I thought of the world, how I felt about myself, who I hung out with, what we did and what we talked about, my opinion of my peers, what music I listened to, what I did for fun, or even what I looked like, really. It's so strange, and slightly unsettling. All I have are these flashes of memories and references from my blog sophomore year that "Freshman year was hell" and that "My personality changed practically every day".
Sounds like an awkward, growing, learning year, and perhaps one best lost to the annals of repressed memories. Still seems strange to me, though.