I just had lunch with friends and while trying to list out loud the kind of things I had written in the past, I came to realize I had written more than I thought, and always loved doing so. Personal (teen) diaries where I’d bitch on best friends’ treasons or outrageous outfit, make fun of that teacher (how cruel) or else copy the sms conversations with my boyfriend, wondering for about an entire page what he had meant with this particular word (I know); both priceless and shameful to read it today.