Volume One: June 14th, 1982 (age twelve) to December 6, 1986 (age sixteen)
It looks like: a Mead spiral notebook, size 9 1/2 x 6 inches. The cover is a mottled orange and the word "LOG" is written on it in pencil, highlighted by orange marker.
What's inside? Adolescence. I was awfully boy-crazy, even at age twelve. When I was in Catholic school, I made lists of the boys in the class; each name had a short description of said boy and whether or not he was even interested in girls in the first place. I also detail the all-encompassing crush that I had in high school. (There was a note slipped into a locker involved. A note with poetry on it!)
Slumber parties were another big thing in there. Perhaps because I didn't have much in the way of adventures to go on in that period of my life, so such extraordinary events required thorough recording. I particularly went into detail over an all-Duranie slumber party held at my best friend's house. I remember that one pretty well, and I think I do in part because I wrote down every little thing I could recall as soon as I had the diary in hand. When the entry described a photograph that had been taken of me--in fake leather pants and a frilly white shirt--my first thought was "oh, I think I may have that picture somewhere!" I might put it up here if I can dig it up.
Not all the stuff I go into detail into is pleasant. I lend the same scrutiny to my first serious encounter with sexual harassment, when two kids took turns asking me questions about my sex life and offering to become part of it.
One streak that runs through it is a sense of willful defiance. I was a weird kid, no question, and being teased for it just drove me to double-down in my weirdness instead of shaping myself into a more socially acceptable form. Duran Duran, strange as it may seem, was one of my points of rebellion, and from there, I learned to stick with what I loved without worrying about what other people may think. The downside of my refusal to be normal was that I never really found my tribe--my tribe of Duranies were at another school where my best friend at the time went. When that best friend gave up on Duran Duran, I lost that tribe, and couldn't really assemble anything similar where I was. (I made up for that many years later.) My resistance to "conformity" left me on the outside of things I could have actually enjoyed if I'd given them a chance.
The last few pages are entries where I document things like what I ate, what I wore to school, and so on. It's an interesting glimpse into my version of 80s style.
Stay tuned for the next exciting volume of Sheila's Diaries! High school isn't over yet, so expect some more hormonal extremes.
Today I took pleasure in listening to Paul Melancon's The Get-Gos Action Hour! all the way through without interruption. (I burned a copy that's living in my car right now. Not the optimal listening experience for a concept album.)
Today I learned that I still have a copy of a short story I wrote back in the early 90s. It's called "Bleeding the Blind." No, you don't get to see it. This entry was originally posted at https://wonderbink.dreamwidth.org/235154.html. Please comment there using OpenID.