A Wire Wastebasket Of Crumpled Thoughts

"Your family will react to your declaration that you don't want a fancy, overblown funeral with relief and increased murder attempts."

Dear Diary,
Today, I toyed with the notion of deleting this blog and all it's contents. "Why?" You ask? To which I calmly reply: "Why not?". I have began a grand total of 11 diaries/journals/laundry lists/doodle pads/MadLibs (call it what you wish) in my life to date. Notice the key word: Began.

Approaching a maximum page count of roughly 27 or so, I would visualize being hit by a beer truck on my next outing to the mailbox (I do ever so enjoy these dramatic scenarios). At that precise moment, there would be no going back. All those deep dark (translation: "lame") secrets would be committed to paper for eternity. My poor mother would have no choice but boycott my funeral based on all the stupid shit I not only DID as a kid, but actually recalled in one entry or another. A time capsule of naivete. To this day, she has mentally blocked out the actions she KNOWS I'm guilty of.... so... yeah.

Anyhoo - as the floodgate of exaggerated imagery would open, I would seek out the nearest Sharpie.... As it turns out, the good folks at the subsidiary of the subsidiary of the Newell Rubbermaid company make an inferior product. It doesn't effectively erase the frazzled outpourings previously scribbled in ball point. Hell, even the felt-tip moments would be seemingly etched in the annals of history. Hmmmm....In desperation, I'd reach for a canister of my old faithful Aquanet and that rusty Zippo I found on the street somewhere near 21st and 13th... After all, I only "socially" smoked back in the day.......

............*FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!* Ahhh! Problem solved! On second glance, it also appears I no longer have any use for tweezers.....Two birds with one stone!

Clearly, I have an entirely unreliable memory as a few months/years would pass and I'd get the whim to begin anew. To be perfectly frank, 9 times out of 11, this was based upon nothing more than some sort of universal aligning of the stars.... The unlikely union of happening across a deliciously decorated journal on clearance at the local bookstore coupled with the neat-o .3mm pen I just procured for no known reason.

Do I have a lot to hide? You bet your sweet ass, I do. We're not talking government secrets, here... or even those of the particularly juicy variety. Rather, my mind is quite simply the fruitcake that time forgot. Not even so much as the courtesy to be catapulted across Manitou in annual celebration. I will forever maintain (and I can rightly say "forever", given my self-proclaimed immortality) that people like me until they get to know me. As the stunning Miss Monroe once stated: "I am not interested in money. I just want to be wonderful."  

This stretches far beyond vanity (with a somewhat elusive admission of the very same).... it's not that I must be liked at the sacrifice of all that truly lies within. Rather, I don't readily invite many people into the inner workings of my mind. I find great amusement in the labels placed on me with such certainty, additionally relishing being underestimated. Previously, many of my most intimate, embarrassing or simply raw emotions would be vomited on those pages. It was between myself and "Bernard". For his eyes only... or at least until the sudden appearance of aforementioned beer truck.

Alas, I shall keep this frivolous dream alive for the time being. So much to say and pet rocks and such, no? My affair with FB has already come to a close, so off I go to another depository.

Until next time, My Pets... Or is this all she wrote? :)
-A.

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Kitty

Friday, March 25, 2011

A Wire Wastebasket Of Crumpled Thoughts

"Your family will react to your declaration that you don't want a fancy, overblown funeral with relief and increased murder attempts."

Dear Diary,
Today, I toyed with the notion of deleting this blog and all it's contents. "Why?" You ask? To which I calmly reply: "Why not?". I have began a grand total of 11 diaries/journals/laundry lists/doodle pads/MadLibs (call it what you wish) in my life to date. Notice the key word: Began.

Approaching a maximum page count of roughly 27 or so, I would visualize being hit by a beer truck on my next outing to the mailbox (I do ever so enjoy these dramatic scenarios). At that precise moment, there would be no going back. All those deep dark (translation: "lame") secrets would be committed to paper for eternity. My poor mother would have no choice but boycott my funeral based on all the stupid shit I not only DID as a kid, but actually recalled in one entry or another. A time capsule of naivete. To this day, she has mentally blocked out the actions she KNOWS I'm guilty of.... so... yeah.

Anyhoo - as the floodgate of exaggerated imagery would open, I would seek out the nearest Sharpie.... As it turns out, the good folks at the subsidiary of the subsidiary of the Newell Rubbermaid company make an inferior product. It doesn't effectively erase the frazzled outpourings previously scribbled in ball point. Hell, even the felt-tip moments would be seemingly etched in the annals of history. Hmmmm....In desperation, I'd reach for a canister of my old faithful Aquanet and that rusty Zippo I found on the street somewhere near 21st and 13th... After all, I only "socially" smoked back in the day.......

............*FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!* Ahhh! Problem solved! On second glance, it also appears I no longer have any use for tweezers.....Two birds with one stone!

Clearly, I have an entirely unreliable memory as a few months/years would pass and I'd get the whim to begin anew. To be perfectly frank, 9 times out of 11, this was based upon nothing more than some sort of universal aligning of the stars.... The unlikely union of happening across a deliciously decorated journal on clearance at the local bookstore coupled with the neat-o .3mm pen I just procured for no known reason.

Do I have a lot to hide? You bet your sweet ass, I do. We're not talking government secrets, here... or even those of the particularly juicy variety. Rather, my mind is quite simply the fruitcake that time forgot. Not even so much as the courtesy to be catapulted across Manitou in annual celebration. I will forever maintain (and I can rightly say "forever", given my self-proclaimed immortality) that people like me until they get to know me. As the stunning Miss Monroe once stated: "I am not interested in money. I just want to be wonderful."  

This stretches far beyond vanity (with a somewhat elusive admission of the very same).... it's not that I must be liked at the sacrifice of all that truly lies within. Rather, I don't readily invite many people into the inner workings of my mind. I find great amusement in the labels placed on me with such certainty, additionally relishing being underestimated. Previously, many of my most intimate, embarrassing or simply raw emotions would be vomited on those pages. It was between myself and "Bernard". For his eyes only... or at least until the sudden appearance of aforementioned beer truck.

Alas, I shall keep this frivolous dream alive for the time being. So much to say and pet rocks and such, no? My affair with FB has already come to a close, so off I go to another depository.

Until next time, My Pets... Or is this all she wrote? :)
-A.

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Post a Comment