May, 1997:

I once met a boy, whom I called Bug. This was because he was six foot two and he slept in fetal position. I once took a picture of him doing exactly that, and I said that he was curled up like a bug. After that, the name stuck.

I liked him because he put up with me. I have many shifting moods, and he survived through them all. He let me wirte him incessant letters and in general, just be weird. We had an amazing time at the beach in LA, where we fed each other grapes and played with mass amounts of seaweed.

I fell in love with him, but he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend, whom he is now back together with. My Bug consumed a year of my life, and now we barely talk. The world works in mysterious ways. We still have outstanding plans to go to Tahiti when we are 24.

The question is, why do I have this desire to write about him on the web. I want to type up my diaries and put them out here for everyone to read. Does making your life public exorcize your demons? I have tried it and I don't think so. I tell everyone everything there is to know about me, and yet my past still haunts me.

October 6, 1997