Every now and then I go to a live show in Hollywood called "Mortified." People get up on stage and read stuff they wrote when they were in middle school or high school. Sometimes it's from their diaries, sometimes it's poems or songs. But it's always mortifying and gets big laughs, which is the point. The distance between now and when they wrote it is big enough (one hopes) to make the evening full of laughter instead of pain. But it's the pain that makes the experience so universal and thus appealing and communal. We've all been there.
Case in point:
March 12, 1965
Today is my 12th birthday. But is it a happy birthday? I dare say not, for I am one sorry freek. Everyone else in gym looks the same. You ask how I know this? Fine. During showers after swimming. It's clear as daylight. I'm twice the size of the biggest guy! Why doesn't Ron go on a diet??????? Nana is on a diet and it seems to be working. Ron just needs to buy dietetic food like ice milk. Then the guys would stop staring at me all the time. Especially Coach Smolka. He even told Ron that if I weighed too much it could drain blood from his brain and that if he held it he'd know how much it weighed. Ron said no. Maybe he's in denile. Anyway, I'm just glad that none of the girls in school have seen me. I think they would run in the other direction. Except for Carrie Jarvis, the neighbor who stays with Ron when Mom and Dad go out. She tried to kiss me! And I thought I was weired. Ron tries all his new jokes on her, but she never laughs. She just stares at me and scratches herself between the legs. Maybe she's got lice like Eric Hurst because she does it all the time. Aaagh! I'm feeling full again! This happens to me 50 times a day and it always ends with a seizure. Am I dying? God? Are you there? Why me??? What have I done to deserve this?