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part with me
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about me
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Alotta my pals say that I am pretty random, and i like to think out side of the box alot. Im pretty crazy but not in the straight jacket sorta way ya kno. I like to send letters to my friends cuz everyone likes to get real mail every once and a while. I also like to leave messages on answering machines. Those are a few joys in my life. Another joy in my life is my friends. They put happy into my life just being there. They are my favorite people and I would do anything for them. There are many other joys in my life such as my dog and writing. There are sum downs too but the good stuff makes up for it. Ya can't let the bad bring ya down too much bcuz then life gets a little harder everyday cuz its just bringin ya down. Movin on, Im kinda spastic and goofy and thats aways fun. I like to have fun and smile and have a good time. I'm never usually serious but sometimes I am when I write. Other than that, I usually am never serious cuz its just not me. It would just be weird. But hey I'm weird too and sponaneous so ya never know what to expect outta me I am just a firecracker that just never stops goin. Ya think the pop stops but no it keeps on goin. I can also be refered to as spark plug cuz i dunno i guess im sparky but okay. Thats about all the main stuff, you'll learn the rest in time.
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| this is your cue. smile. |
A smile resides behind this expressionless face
I'm spinning hand in hand with love and desire I feel like walking to some far away destination No particular reason--just because I can. I had a dream this morning that I was in my old house with my cousin Drew. I was around 11, and he was around the same age ( though he is really two years younger than me ). In my dream, we were siblings and we were alone in my house gathering all the things our parents forgot to pack. I don't think we were supposed to be there or to be taking the rest of our things. We were acting very sneaky as we were trying to stuff all of our favorite belongings into big bags- quickly but quietly as well. We realized there was too much stuff in our bags to be able to carry it out stealthily. Suddenly, our bags are at the bottom of the steps in the dark, cold basement-- both of us reluctant to retrieve them. But they were our favorite belongings, our childhood memories, things we could pass down to our children when we were finally parents. So we ran downstairs, got our bags and ran back up. Again, realizing the fact we can't carry these big bags out without someone noticing, we devise a plan. We decide to push up the ceiling tiles and stuff our bags up there. We may not be able to walk away with these belongings, but that way no one else could have them either. And someday, we can come back and get them. So we went to a particular room in the house and tried to push up a ceiling tile. The only problem was that someone painted over them so when we went to push up the tile, chips of paint would fall on the floor- making it obvious that someone lifted the tile. Nevertheless, we lifted it up and tried shoving our stuff in there as quickly as possible. Then my ma calls and says the realitor is coming back soon so we'd better be out of the house by then. So we hurry the process and shove faster while at the same time, trying to pick up all the mess of the paint chips so no one would suspect anything. Suddenly, this thin black woman comes in and the bag rips open and our old things start spilling our. There were these paper roosters or something in my bag and they were falling all over me, except only their paper heads. The black woman asks us in a stern, demanding manner, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" and out of fright and frusterations, I yell, "ROOSTERS!!!!" and I jump from the stool in hopes to try to pick them up so there isn't a bigger mess. Then the lady just walked out and we were alone in the room again. Then I woke up. It brought to mind my thoughts of moving away from that house...how the majority of my childhood memories remain there, haunting the place. All I have here is the birth of a new life at eight years old. But soon, even that will change. College is approaching in the next year or so and then life outside of this one, when I create my own version of home. And then what will this be? What will I feel like when I am at my old home, this current home? Will it still feel like home? Will I still feel the comfort and warmth of it or will I feel out of place...like I don't belong anymore? What will become of my room? Will I leave it as is- pictures, magazine clippings, art all over the walls? Or will I want to take it with me and bring it to life whereever I live? Will I have the heart to strip my walls completely...making it naked and ordinary...like anyone could have spent almost a decade of their life in there? I wouldn't be able to walk in it ever again if I did that. It would be too...empty. It wouldnt be mine anymore. It would be a familiar memory where I used to inhabit...used to dwell in when I wanted to be alone, slept, wrote, wept...lived. The walls changed as I changed. They defined me as I grew more and more comfortable with myself where I could show it proudly. My room is me. I dont think I can take it apart. I think I'll leave it be. I'll start over at my new place when I live there. The walls will define me. Pictures, magazine clippings, art, memories... My new home that I will make a home will be just like my room. I just can't bear to think about moving again and having another dream about leaving favorite keepsakes behind, leaving memories, leaving... Adieu Love to all Jenny at 6:20 PM
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