I’ve aired a lot of dirty laundry on the internet. Anyone who knows what they’re looking for can find a plethora of blogs and photographs. All you need is an old username (dear friends, you know which ones) and bam, the heart and soul of a younger Alice is on display for you to peruse. I think at some point I even linked my old Livejournal to my Facebook. That thing has lots of old memories, some friends only and some that aren’t, but really really should be.

On one hand, it’s incredibly embarrassing. Do I want people to know what kind of boy drama I had in high school? What very clever thing I thought I did that, in retrospect, is really stupid? Really shitty poetry? I was a bit too honest a lot of the time. If someone wants to know how to make me insecure, or how to scare me, or how to break my heart, I’ve pretty much already told them. This isn’t something I anticipated as an angsty fourteen year old in need of an outlet. 

But then again, it was an outlet. Just like this is still an outlet, though I am not as candid here as I used to be. Sometimes I wish I did still have a blog where I know I can say whatever the damn I want, and had no fear as to who read it. But I’m a bit older and wiser now (so I like to think) and realize this is probably a bad idea. The internet is a big place, and with employers and parents becoming more savvy about finding our little plots of web real estate, it’s just not something I can do anymore. 

I’ll never delete my old blogs, it just wouldn’t feel right. But man, sometimes I wish I hadn’t been such an idiot when I was writing in them.