Dulce et decorum est--Julius Caesar; they were his friends. I can't recall how old I was. Fifteen, most likely, and I poured everything into my paper diary, the one I've had since my twelfth birthday, the one with the cute ditty on the front urging me to imagine (but you can't live on imagination, no matter what Einstein says. Knowledge pays, and just look what happened to Einstein. I'm getting old now, finally learning the value of money). I remember the blood ribbons, Lucius, and the Cassius I saw. I still want to play Cassius someday.

A certain banner keeps popping up. Something about the diary of an atheist, where said atheist tears out his soul.

If I want to read about soul-tearing atheists, I'll read my old paper diary. I'll do that now, drag it out of my dresser drawer, out from under balls of socks and folds of flannel pants, and I'll find out just how old I was when I saw Julius Caesar. Among other things, inevitably, because I'm sure to get sidetracked.

Like this.

*screams, points* You see, you see? It all began back when I was a wee brat. Superficiality took up a huge chunk of my mind as a kid, but it wasn't until I was eleven that I knew something had to be done. And middle school never helped anything, because on May thirteenth, three days after my twelfth birthday, LaToya, who sat in front of me in gym, told me I needed to lose some weight. And Heather laughed, and Krystal laughed, and Sean said I needed to lose some glasses too, and I sat there like a lump, wishing Suzanne or Kathy sat closer to me so I could turn and talk and pretend to play things off, maybe hide my beety face. But no one useful sat nearby, and besides, they were right.

Contact lenses next year, and the growth spurt, and a two-week-long crush on Leonardo DiCaprio (clam it; everyone else was doing it, so I followed) and a terrible desire to be one of the Popular People. Next year, eighth grade, the silent iconoclast, still a sheep, only to Jessie this time.

Come on, Yvi, get back on track. You wouldn't have seen the play in middle school.

Right. Nothing for the rest of eighth grade, nothing for ninth grade--the two-year rift for troubled teenage times and all the rot that comes with 'em--and then tenth grade and, ah, much angst, flashes of my current writing style.

Hum. February of 2000, I saw Shakespeare's R & J. Good thing I didn't know what slash was back then.

Lots of dream-tellings. Surprise, surprise.

April 3, 2000. Back from an orch trip to NYC, having seen a certain musical and read a certain book. The beginning of a not-so-grave malady.

There it is. Saw the play four days after I turned sixteen, one day after my first brush with sleep paralysis (which, I might add, was made even more frightening because I fell asleep listening to the CSR. See, Bamatabois started talking to me, and Fantine started singing really fast, and I couldn't move to turn off the Discman... all right, continuing on. Told you I'm easily sidetracked). That play affected my muddled mind quite a bit. It was awfully good.

Can't stop reading now. Let's see...a couple days later, took the AP Government exam, did not die, go me...angsting with Lisha, angsting about Jessie, CIT program over the summer, come home to the new house to find the family's finally gotten Internet access.

August 20, 2000: Ivy discovers fan fiction. Is smitten with La Javert, Little Gamin's "A Drunkard's Prayer," LMFFI, and the idea that there are people in the world just as crazy as she is. Discovers fanart. Takes a stab at it. September 19, stumbles onto an interesting piece titled "The Cure for Musichetta," and spends rest of day wondering what the heck slash is. Hint: it's not in Webster's. Then follows several pages of sites, authors, and general yapping about Miz-related things, then yapping on how I've gotten myself a real, live online diary, then the odd frenzied entry I scrawled out in states of euphoria, excitement, or dismay, and wasn't patient enough to wait for the computer. The last one is dated late March, 2002.

I think I'd like to read Julius Caesar now and see if I still remember the Cassius monologue I memorized.

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, as well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story...

Adieu.