So. Lets see.
I've never been able to keep a journal for more than a week. The pages most likely end up in the trash bin. But perhaps there is something to discover in this whole electronic diary entries past the software and the java, the programs and the bianary systems to something profoundly phsycological. Perhaps it's because of my own self-skepticism that I can't consistanty put out entries.
Perhaps I'll discover something about myself. Or learn to like parts of this circutry called the phyche.
Anyway, do forgive my erratic behavior. It's hard to adjust to the outside world when your own brain is playing mindtricks.

I look back at those pictures now and wonder when that happened. Why that happened. Who that was.
Am I going crazy?
Why do I hardly remember when they were taken?
Have I just forgotten when I was, well, happy?
I mean I am now, but when I was younger I was so carefree, I didn't care about how other people viewed me.
Those pictures show me in my soccer uniform, filthy, my knees bloody and caked with dirt, posing with my teammates, our arms intertwined. My copper hair was unbrushed and hung freely from a pony-tail, and I had one arm on T.J.'s shoulder.
Then came Jr. High.
All those kids, from soccer, school, and Girl Scouts, seemingly outgrew me. Katie R. started hanging out with the cooler kids, and eventually stopped talking to me. Zack, a year older than I, acted like we were never friends. T.J., also a year older, and I conversed casually in the hall, but without being on the same team, we had nothing to talk about. Shannon and I remained friends (we were on the same team) and her father coched the team, and her little brother Joseph (a.k.a., Head Lice, not because he had lice, mind you) also joined the team.
I miss them sometimes. But now that I've moved, all chance of ever being friends with them has been distroyed.

Constapation. Inflamation. PMS. Grrrrrrrrrr...