Oh. Are you in for a treat here. When I was at my mom’s in the summer I found my entire adolescence packed neatly into a giant cardboard box at the back of the closet in my childhood bedroom. There were pictures. Report cards. Mix tapes. Papers I wrote. Yearbooks. School newspapers. And then…
16-year-old Ali would be mortified to know that I am about to share her deepest, most angsty thoughts. If you have lady parts, you know of what I speak. The poetry written across pages of spiral notebooks while you should have been paying attention in Chemistry…but, you know, the chemistry with the boy who didn’t call was something was way more important. I mean, this was world-ending stuff.
Yes it was.
…and now 32-year-old Ali is slightly mortified too.