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29 August 2007 @ 12:09 am
Was I ever that young?  
Oh. My. GODS.

I'm staying at my Mom's for a few days, and in my old room no less. There's no furniture to speak of; I'm sleeping on an air mattress, and I had to haul in a lamp from the other room so that I had some source of light. I peeked in the closet and saw an old cardboard box that looked somewhat familiar...

I've spent the last hour or more going through cards, notes, photographs, letters, certificates, titles and the like. Here's what I've discovered:

~I have amazing friends. I always have, and I fear I have never appreciated them as much as they deserve.

~there were one or two boys that actually were willing to talk to me in high school, but I was too much of a freak to realize that it wasn't out of pity or a desire to get to know my other friends better. *facepalm*

~I wrote unbelievably crap poetry. Holy crow, guys... I think I may have to post something here. Yes, I open myself up to ridicule, but seriously? that ridicule is SO completely deserved.

~Tif is a saint. Or a goddess. Most likely both. And I owe her not just an email, but a long, handwritten missive (possibly illustrated) and a dedication in a book yet-to-be-published. So that fully means I have to get the hell over my fear and get off my sizeable ass and start submitting and get discovered and lauded critically and/or commercially so that I can write said dedication. Yeah, it's all tied in.

~ People believed in me. the hell? how did I gloss past that? (but then, I do that now, don't I? *sucks*)

~Inga? Also a saint. Without question a goddess.

ETA: I've hit another layer, archeologically speaking: there are notes, folded with High School intricacy, scraps of paper torn from the corner or notebook pages, Musical programs with a play by play on the back, a graduation card from a lovely woman, long gone, whom I never told I loved, though I did put her in a story (and dammit - that's another reason I need to get over my whinging self and work hard and write a lot and get published, so that Emma is not forgotten).

More poetry, worse than what came before.

Someone's going to Prom, and it isn't me.

A college theater program wormed its way down, somehow: I'm not in it. fmeh.

A self-portrait (badly shot and badly exposed in the darkroom) from senior year.

In jokes and references that I was certain I'd know forever that I can not now begin to fathom.





This is awesome and it is sad.




more tomorrow. I may share abysmall, painful poetry.

meep.





EDIT AGAIN: I just came downstairs, forgetting that I don't have a scanner here. This sort of sucks. I want you to see 12 year old me, posing with my Best Friend FOREVER! "we're going to get an apartment together someday!" even as the moving truck is being loaded behind us. I want you guys to know that when I say I learned to ride with freakin' halter and lead ropes, usually without a saddle, I really mean it. I want you to see my dad, healthy and handsome in the very first picture (a polaroid) I ever took on my own.
 
 
 
Andrewquueer on August 29th, 2007 04:47 am (UTC)
I want bad poetry. Pweeeese.
Kelladyjoust on August 29th, 2007 04:58 am (UTC)
Tomorrow. I promise. Or, rather... later today. :P


Do you want the bad horse poetry or the bad dragon poetry? I'm sure when I wrote these poems, I thought they were terribly Profound and Important and worthy of a collection with a name like "Ancient Airs" or "Beyond the Mists."
Andrewquueer on August 29th, 2007 12:20 pm (UTC)
Oh, dude, bad dragon poetry all the way.
BlueberryEmilyblueberryshero on August 29th, 2007 04:59 am (UTC)
That's amazing.

's like a time capsule, but unintentional, so you get all the bits that are ony good now that you're old(er).
Fjordhopper: S-girl capefjordhopper on August 29th, 2007 10:04 am (UTC)
When we cleaned the attic, before construction, I went through the same sort of thing. It is both fun and sort of depressing to do. You have bad poetry, I have bad art and drawings!! But I went through the same kinds of thoughts, reading notes from friends who I no longer keep in touch with and realizing that the ones that I do have really been there for me that long too!!

(PS: I didn't go to the prom or even on a date in high school either...one more thing we have in common)
Goddessavhi on August 29th, 2007 01:18 pm (UTC)
I come across stuff all the time at my mom's. She likes to hide things in every nook and cranny. Hey if you didn't have bad poetry then, you wouldn't have good stuff now!

I come across my writing all the time, and the songs I've written...and even songs and poetry my mother wrote when she was alive. It makes me miss her, but overall, it puts a smile on my face.
Ratesjul: brain spinningratesjul on August 29th, 2007 07:52 pm (UTC)
Fascinating!
I love poring through the detritus of previous selves.

And Kelly? People believe in you now.

And I love this line:
"there are notes, folded with High School intricacy"
Maire: Snarfaranturas on August 30th, 2007 09:18 pm (UTC)
I wrote poetry in high school (and beyond, sad to say) bet mine's worse than yours......