Craig and I spent a couple of hours Saturday afternoon running around town looking for a few things to help make better use of the space in the upstairs craft room. I was specifically looking for a card table (which, newsflash, people under 30 have no idea what that is) and while this adventure could be in and of itself an entire week’s worth of posts, the point is we found it, returned home, and in the process of going through boxes to make space for the table, stumbled across my middle school diary which bears a striking resemblance to early 80s advertisements for feminine hygiene products.
Besides the startling realization that my parents let an 11 year-old stay up way later than I let my 14 year-olds, three things stand out: 1) I had a deep and abiding love for the word “stuff”; 2) it was clearly important to document what I ate; and 3) NOTHING HAS CHANGED THIRTY-TWO YEARS LATER.
Upon finding this book, all productivity for the day ceased. I sat cross-legged on the floor and turned page after page, howling with laughter, dying of embarrassment, and wondering how my parents managed to shepherd me through those years without turning to drugs and alcohol.
The drama, people, THE DRAMA.
I was surprised at how many events got pushed to the deep recesses of my mind, inconsequential now, but seemingly of THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE EVER at the time they occurred and was also amused/mildly chagrined at how completely and utterly boy crazy I was.
Which is the polite way to say that had it been today, I’d be arrested for stalking.
Anyway, I thought it would be fun this week to take an entry or two and tell some stories. Most of them will take place at boarding school, to where my diary and I flew in a little Cessna a week after I got it.
And where we went to bed early.
To be continued….
Have a nice day.