Holy crap, sometimes I'm really glad that I save bloody everything. When Mom came up a couple of weeks ago she brought some boxes I'd been storing at my parents' place. Mostly just old books that I didn't really have room for in my previous (studio) apartment, but also a couple of boxes labeled "Nostalgia items." (I do this sort of thing. I'm not really a scrap-booker, but I hang on to stuff for sentimental reasons, hoping to one day have some brilliant idea as to what to do with it all) Anyway, so I'm cleaning up the basement today and going through those boxes, and I come across this notebook from my junior year of college. And it's a jumble of notes from my journalism class, interviews, book, restaurant, and theater reviews, all mixed in with blocking notes from my gig as stage manager for "Into the Woods." I remember doing all those things, but part of me did sort of forget that I knew how to do all those things. The writing sounds totally different from my style these days and there are all these diagrams and theatrical notes for ITW. I remember how intense those rehearsals were, how I practically lived and died to please the theater kids. I had just forgotten that I was that person, for a period of time. That locked away in my brain somewhere is knowledge about constructing a scene and setting a rehearsal schedule and building sets and sewing costumes.

And then there's stuff that I really, truly, do not remember at all. Apparently I was invited to take part in a journalism conference in DC my senior year of high school! I have absolutely no memory of this whatsoever. It makes sense that I didn't go (it cost over $900 to attend and was in April - a scheduling nightmare with AP exams and finals and whatnot). And I'm sure it's nothing nefarious - like my parents just not telling me about it or something. They're not like that. So I'm sure I opened the invitation, and made the decision, and then it's like my brain just jettisoned that piece of information entirely. Weird.