I went up in the loft last week, and one of the things I found was my teenage diary. I remembered pouring angst into its pages, back in the days before we knew it was called angst and part of the human condition. It wasn't even good angst; I hadn't had much practice and there weren't the sheaves of examples from PostSecret and LiveJournal and the like on which to hone my tortured soul. I opened it with some trepidation to find - that my 25-year old self had carefully cut out all the angst pages. An excellent decision :-) It still has the accounts of my 1991 trip to the US in the back, down to the $1.37 I spent on a jacket potato at the airport before going home. I don't think I had as much as $1.50 left by that point.