in between the cover of another perfect wonder.

I always find it amusing to witness maturity in others, and even myself. It's pretty evident, reading old yearbooks, how different we sounded back then. What we cared about, or what we found funny. What we freaked out and created drama over. My memory is pretty shoddy, but old journal entries are just so embarrassing to read again. There are so many things where I think, "Wait...that was definitely a mistake." or "Wow, what a stupid, conceited thought to be thinking." But I guess mistakes were meant to be made in the end.

It's also interesting to wonder if I've been changing for the better, or for worse, or if this change is nothing at all except for the fact I just am more oblivious. I guess that in itself is a good thing. It's a little painful to read old entries, even on this, of how whiny I was. This is all the more amusing knowing that I will hit a rough spot and go through the same motions again, but hopefully this time I will look back on this particular date and get myself out of that rut.

There's something about pressure to write something, anything that makes the writing hazardous. I don't really know how anyone really gets out of writers block until struck by inspiration. That whole "just start writing" exercise doesn't really work.

So, until I'm struck with better ideas...