I keep thinking that adulthood is something that will just happen to me, like, developmentally. One day I’ll stop staying up until 3:30am playing Word Bubbles and start getting up empoweringly early so I can…I don’t know…recycle something. Early. Then I’ll sit down and begin to pen Statements of Purpose so eloquent and masterful that they will basically be equivalent to Golden Tickets for grad school. Since I am an adult, I will do this w/o being distracted by thoughts like, “I should give my dog an IQ test!” or “Wouldn’t it be cool if I made a dinosaur collage?” And I certainly won’t hop out of my chair and into bed w/ my laptop to google “images: pterodactyl.”
Obviously I am not taking the prescribed path to maturation. Actually, I seem to have wandered off the path in search of something shiny, fallen into a ditch, and died. Metaphysically speaking.
I’m not sure where it all went wrong. I was a bright child. Or at least, that’s what my parents and teachers told me. Lately I’ve been suspecting it was all a ruse, or perhaps a sinister experiment meant to test whether perception of intelligence has any effect on raw intelligence. I was probably the subject of some asshole’s thesis: “The Placebo Brain: Make Your Child Smarter With Well-Placed Prevarication.”
Anyway, preemptive effort directed towards any possible future therapists, I decided to dig around in my past a little to see if I could pinpoint any glaring signs of pathology, perhaps something along the lines of, “When I grow up, I want to be a lazy person!” Journaling has been a habit of mine for years, although the thought of it now is rather horrifying; I regularly write blog entries that are thousands of words long…imagine doing that by hand! For better or for worse, I have destroyed the earliest volumes, thus denying myself (and posterity) insight into my five-year-old brain. The earliest notebooks I have come from my middle school years, 1999-2000.
…I’m going to dye my hair and tan my skin. I wonder how I’ll look?
Everyone says my hair is purple! It is SO not!! I mean, as if.
My color has totally faded! Oh well. My legs are also raw ’cause I was scraping off my gone-wrong fake tan.
A child prodigy, I was. Mostly I rave on and on about a crush I had on this guy named Brian, and my continual social battles w/ this horrible girl named Caitlin. It also brings up some memories which I apparently repressed, like being called “Mrs. Flat” by some dumb boy. More to the point, a trend of irresponsibility is already in evidence. I’m constantly staying up too late, resisting attempts to make me do SAT practice, and a marked reluctance to put on “real clothes” instead of leggings and a robe (which, is what I happen to be wearing right now in 2010). My younger self was no better off romantically, either:
…I feel like I want a boyfriend, but I need someone who really LOVES me. Who I can talk to and will tell me I’m pretty and will bring me flowers for no good reason…just to show me that he loves me.
Don’t we all, little Dragon. Don’t we all. I have no idea why I seem to have been enamored of those inane salutations; I used equally stupid closings like “C U L8TR” and “Luving U.” I abhor shit like that these days. In fact, I suspect that twentysomething Dragon would not have liked tween Dragon.
My dark sense of humor/interest in language also manifests itself
Oh, here’s a lymeric (sic) in French written by Edward Gorey. It’s kinda funny. 😀
Un moine au milieu de la masse
S’éleva et cria en détresse:
‘La vie religieuse,
C’est sale et affreuse!’
Et se poignarda des les fesses.
By the end of 8th grade, I was still pretty small-chested…but was still hopeful that my body would “realize” its error and take (growing) pains to correct it.
I feel like that could be an analogy for something…but what?