Oh, nostalgia!

I'm having a weird identity crisis, which isn't a bad thing, even if it is a bit disorientating. Last night I spent hours pouring over diaries from when I was 15-16, playing songs I hadn't played for years and remembering all those strange intricacies of the heart at that age. 

I'm obsessed with nostalgia! I love reliving those heady days when Dad would give me $20 to go to the shopping centre and I was at school in years that weren't double digits and I would write letters to musicians I adored and write songs about love even though I didn't know anything about it yet (because that's what you write songs about right?) and I remember how the older kids were so cool and together...and I read through my diaries last night like novels, watching myself fall insanely in love, lose my head, learn that rules are made so that we can break them and learn, the hard way, that there won't always be a parent to give you $20, just like loving stupidly is stupid, a little predictability never hurt anyone and there's definite safety in routine. Going to a gig was a BIG DEAL and I would plan it for weeks and have like the BEST NIGHT ever, without fail. Wearing makeup was a BIG DEAL and I would dedicate blocks of time to learning how to glue on fake eyelashes and how to put glitter on my eyes not IN my eyes. Everything was such a BIG DEAL when I was that age and it's not that I'm complaining or anything because it seriously SUCKED being underage (I guess I'm not so far overage yet that I've forgotten how it feels). But I love BIG DEALS about things that are now quite routine: gigs, parties, drinking...LOVE is still a big deal but I think I'll always be like that. Sigh!

I feel like I'm wading through the GREAT PERHAPS at the moment which is thrilling and exciting but a part of me (the part that reads supermarket junk mail because the bright colours and familiar brands are supremely comforting) wouldn't really mind so much to be transported back to being 15. 15, where 18 was, like, SO OLD and if you were 18 you were together, and cool, and exciting and smart and beautiful. 

So in like three years when I'm craving my current 18 year old life, these are some photos that I will look at fondly, patting my 27 cats in a synthetic nightie. Pondering my romantic failures. Eating Weeties out of the box. Weeping. (Nostalgically of course.)