Thirty-two, Brute?

I am visiting my parents in North Carolina this week. Although where they live now isn't the house I grew up in, I did spend a couple of summers and the year after college here, so there are piles of my belongings strewn about. I was going through some of my old music books, when a battered copy of Julius Caesar fell down from the top shelf of the closet. Written inside the back cover was the following note (original note is in italics, my current thoughts are in bold):

I am so bored I think I'm going to cry. Someday when I'm thirty (darn it, I'm two years late!) I'll find this book at the bottom of a box (or the top of a closet) and read through it. And I'll remember what an unpatient (um...impatient?), silly girl I was (the use of past tense is really not necessary). Except that I probably won't be able to read it because my handwriting is so terrible (terrible, but familiar (terribly familiar?)). But after I look through it, I'll show it to Antonio, my loving husband (I assume this is either Antonio Banderas (who was much hotter then) or Antonio Sabato Jr. (who played Jagger on General Hospital), and he will laugh at me and ruffle my hair (apparently at 15, my dream man would laugh at me. Jeremy, I dare you to try it).

Monday, May 16, 1994

2:04 pm

Mrs. Reier's English class

My sincere apologies to Mrs. Reier, who overall was a fine, fine teacher. In my defense, this was likely my last class of the day...and I think Heather, Sara and Dan were all in this class with me, so I'm sure when I wasn't bored, I was distracted.

Also, my apologies to Shakespeare for defacing his work with such silly, adolescent ramblings.

However, kudos to my 15-year old self for having the foresight to write a blog entry 17 years in advance (I never was much of a procrastinator).