Sunday, June 25, 2006

Blast to the Past

I am having a garage sale next Saturday. No, there is no death wish. I just have a shopping habit that needs funding.

Anyway, whilst sorting through the rubbermaid tubs in the basement, I came across my journal of poems. I wrote the first one at thirteen. The last one was written at eighteen. There's also a dramatic statement in the very last pages, in which I lamented that "poerty is not only a gift, it is an artform. People who write poetry should not only be recognized, but commended." I remember writing it. I sat down one day with the intention of writing something meaningful, so that if anyone ever found it (like if I were to--you know--like DIE or something), they would recognize me for the undiscovered genius that I was. Then I would become like Emily Dickinson posthumously.

Can we say Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen had to have been written by someone who knew me back in the day? I'm reading through it tonight. Every single painful, purple prose ridden, cheesily rhymed poem in the book.

Also, the parade got rained out. Not just rain, but POURING rain. The kind of rain that comes down sideways and hurts when you walk outside. We were bummed, but the kids still cleaned up on candy. Afterwarads I went to the pageant where the girl I thought would be queen won. Then we came home, and the kids napped until it was time to go watch the fireworks. This is only the third year that our little Podunk has had fireworks, but they do a FANTASTIC job! For a bunch of volunteer firemen who do more gambling and beer drinking than they do actuall fire fighting, they handle the pyrotechnic stuff like old pros.

Today has been spent cleaning. I cleaned Diva's room (a feat on its own), sorted garge sale things, and found a whole stash of books that I haven't read yet. It was like a treasure hunt.

I leave you today with a little tidbit of cheesy poetry. I can't suffer alone here, people.

Love written February 27, 1994 (I was fourteen)
Love is a whisper that speaks in the night
Love is the thing that always turns out right

Love helps you through all happy times and sad
Love helps you through all good times and bad

Love is there when you think life's gonna end
Love is probably your best friend.

*snap-clapping* deep, no? The grooviness, it overwhelms.


DeeJay said...

Garage sales are a task that's for sure. The last one we had I made enough money to go to the furniture store and buy us a nice rocking chair for my son's room. It's in my room now since he has more "college boy" stuff in there these days.

Chatty sent me over since you rented her blog and all. Love the layout!

Stacy Dawn said...

**snap-clapping** Heavy man.

I wish you hadn't mentioned cleaning out her bedroom. That is the one thing on my list this week that needs done but I am avoiding like the plague.