i had an interesting experience this week. as you may remember my parents are clearing out their attic at the moment and they just brought through a tonne of old books, school certificates and so on for me to go through. well, lo and behold one bag contained all of my old diaries spanning from about age 12 to 19/20 ish. first crushes, bad teenage poetry, identity crisises, a lot of what richard curtis refers to as ‘the total agony of being in love’
in the past when clearing out our flat i have allways found re-reading old letters and so on a singularly solopsistic and bittersweet pleasure so when i sat down to go through them all i expected to find it an emotional experience. melancholic, nostalgic, hideously embarassing at the very, very least.
in fact i found it, to my shock, completely boring. i skimmed through the whole load in about 15 minutes and binned the lot. apparantly porn gets less ‘effective’ with re-use – maybe memories are the same?
i have the horrible feeling this means i’ve finally grown up….