I gift you, my post virginity.

Since I was in in the fifth grade I have wanted to write a book. Yes, I loved to read but the idea of documenting my stories was far more appealing to little, opinionated me. All eyes on me? I longed for it. This aspiration is something I would quickly learn in my early twenties wasn’t as cracked up as I had hoped it to be. Throughout my elementary school career I devoted every moment of free time I had to writing my “mini-books”. These tall tales told of made-up characters battling absurd conflict in a whimsical world. Now, did my every biannual report card begin with hand written notes from my teacher explaining to my parents my inability to listen? You betcha they did. Failing math? WHO CARES? Darla just found out her dad is totally a secret agent in Payten land and that shit is real. After elementary comes high school and there I was watching the clock in bland rooms with white walls that no longer hosted posters with pat-yourself-on-the-back quotes like “MISTAKES ARE PROOF THAT YOU ARE TRYING”. Naturally, as teen hood goes on life becomes more bleak and seeking out inspiration often happens in less innocent ways. My stories and journals began to sound more like melodramatic nightmares and while I remember feeling nothing less than the kind of genuine, fall to your knees pain while writing these pieces, I cant help but giggle reading them several years later. Okay, the giggling might have something to do with the My Chemical Romance lyric quotes to kick-start each of the entries. I was a real hoot! The point being, what sucks as a kid, seems so incomparable to what sucks as an adult. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am barley a grown up. After all, I still thoroughly enjoy a good coloring book and lengthy game of hide-and-go-seek. As I write this I am only 23 years old and I’m sure one day I will read this passage and laugh at it as I do the past, today. All that junk about leaving the past in the past? Nonsense according to author Syd Morre who said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.” and Syd Moore must know what she’s talking about, seeing as she writes critically acclaimed books about Wicka and all that seriously real stuff.


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