Dearest Readers,
Until today, throughout the transcription of my private journals, I have used the true names of every person mentioned in my entries. As we come to the end of my time in the sixth grade, I, little Allison, begin to recount experiences far beyond eating fried dough at the carnival and being rejected by the eternally untouchable Dan M.; I begin to tell the story of my blossoming transition to womanhood. Due to the nature of this time in a young girl’s life and the uninhibited honesty of my entries you have seen so far, I have decided to continue publishing my entries with all names but my own and my immediate family’s changed.
Although most of the references I have made to others do not pose threats of embarrassment to anyone but myself, the embarrassment to myself has only been mild so far; as much as I want to say this change is for the protection of the people I grew up with, it’s not–this is about me. When middle school went into full swing, my life hit a point of no return: the discovery of sex. (Relax, perverts–you’ll have to get through two more years’ worth of entries just to read about my first kiss.) So, with that, what it comes down to is that I am choosing not to broadcast who I had my first sex dream about, and which eight to fifteen males in my life I have written could be “The One,” simply because it makes me feel queasy to think those individuals might read these posts someday. More importantly, I want to include as many entries as possible without damaging any friendships, and we all know little Allison has had some scathing words about the people closest to her in the past.
I’m not going to pretend I haven’t thought about this all night. In my sick, twisted mind, I think, “Maybe if the guys I wrote about read those entries they’ll know how I felt and finally have the nerve to approach me!” I’m SICK. This isn’t news to me. It’s something I’ve struggled with, obviously, since I was very young, and at twenty-two I am just beginning take full control of my urges; but, in my sick, twisted mind, I would rather if one of these fantastical romances were ever to occur that it be initiated by something other than the private, now public, outpouring of my 12-year-old emotions. That’s just how I work. Deal with it.
I hope you continue to enjoy this blog as you watch the little, hopeless romantic me turn into the more mature, more bitter, hopeless romantic young woman I am today.
Lots of love,
Ali
Allison's Private Journal 