I just got a new file cabinet, having (way) outgrown my old one, and as I was moving stuff over to it I came across a diary I kept over the summer of 2002, from June 7th through September 19th. A real, actual, pen-and-paper diary. It covered everything from when I started working at the GPMF to the first few weeks of my junior year of school. So much stuff... Tangles of bureaucracy at work. The beautiful Bernstein "Kaddish" symphony. Parties at Irene fragilereality's place and J-J meterbridge's place and our place. Fireworks with Rachel and Nick and Ketamine. Fondue. Noise meetings. The second movement of Beethoven's seventh. Ice cream and walks by the lake with Ariel arielgodwin. Too Much Light with my co-workers. That conversation at Andy's favorite restaurant, just down the street from his high school -- I remember it so well that I can still taste the texture of the bean sprouts in the spring rolls. Those assholes who lost my demo. Taking my computer apart for the first time. Writing new songs. Choir bonding. Dating Noe, those first few weeks.
I really don't think anything compares to keeping a personal, private diary. If you know other people are going to be reading what you're writing, it alters the content. I know that's supposed to be self-evident, but I always believed that I was a very open person, and I never really thought it applied to me. That three-month diary is evidence that it most definitely does apply. There's stuff in those pages that I just can't tell anyone, with the possible exception of my sister. It's really amazing to read it now and see what's changed and what hasn't -- but mostly what has. It's only been a little over a year, and yet everything's so different.