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March 9th, 2004


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11:20 pm - Racing Thoughts
Sometimes I get a significant desire to write. I'm never sure why it's there. Part of it is creating, part of it is the hope that someone might have something to say. But that desire is always countered by a fear of criticism. I wish it was only hard, or unjust criticism that scared me, but honestly it's just any criticism.

There are things in my life that I still feel bad about, things that still bug me in the back of my head. My stupid, stumbling attempt to ask a girl to a dance in 8th grade. Dancing at said 8th grade dance, feeling that I made a fool of myself. Talent contest at Boys' State.

In the end, I can see what they have in common: a feeling that, in the end, there were people pointing out what had happened and pointing out what they would have done different. (Perhaps asking a girl out while walking home from the bus stop, with other kids around, wasn't the world's greatest idea.)

If I could go back in time, I'd change these things. I'm not sure if the change would be better or worse. Honestly, I'd just want those things to keep coming to my thoughts.

It's not that I'm really ashamed of these things. There's nothing really wrong with any of the stories. Melanie Lackey was the girl I asked to the dance, and of course I got shot down. If there was any girl I had a crush on around that time, it was Melanie. Of course she had a much older brother (nearly 5 years IIRC), and that was intimidating. I just felt stupid for having asked and being turned down. Of course I still went to the dance, and I did dance some with Melanie.

I could deal with "slow dances." Compared to many boys my age, I was well-behaved and my hands didn't wander significantly. Melanie insisted that I could dance fast too, so I tried. And she giggled, and "named" it, and a bunch of people got a chuckle out of it. And, to this day, I don't know what it really meant. I've always assumed they were simply making fun of me. And so I still don't feel that I can really dance.

The Boys' State talent "contest." Well, each cabin had to have at least one person in the contest. Somehow, and for some reason, I allowed my cabin mates to talk me into it. We were given some "rehearsal time," where I worked out several TV theme songs on the piano. (We weren't allowed any television for the week-long camp, hence my thought that TV theme songs would be interesting.) I royally screwed them, and then I went to a snare drum and performed a part of the percussion feature from my high school band. But, in the end, people just stared at me, and I'm sure they didn't want to be there any more than I wanted to be on stage.

Boys' State is evil. I'm amazed it didn't damange me more than it did.

Of course there are others things. Regrets and apologies that I feel are owed but that I also feel incapable of making suitably. Letting things go is, obviously, difficult for me. I try to not let those things run my life, but they're still there. I'm just trying to avoid the pitfalls I've laid for myself. Which is harder and harder to do, the faster my thoughts race.
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