“If only I knew then what I know now.” I have such mixed feelings about this statement.
For the most part, I avoid saying things like this because hindsight is 20/20. In the majority of cases, I think most people would take the knowledge they have now and use it to positively influence their past if they thought it could lead to a preferable outcome. All the same, we can’t go back in time and alter anything, which renders the whole wishful nature of statements such as these useless…
… yet I still found myself thinking this way when I read over today’s post.
There is a certain degree of detachment for me when I read past writings such as the one below. Although I can vividly recall how I felt in those particular moments, it still feels slightly foreign. This is quite a peculiar position to be in because I never thought my day of freedom would come. I’d been imprisoned against my will by inexplicable sorrow for so long… my current state of being is supremely surreal in comparison.
When I was a small child growing up in Southern California I would ride in the backseat of my parents’ car.
Quite often we’d drive the 50-60 miles through the valley to visit my grandparents in the LA suburbs. All along the way I’d press my bored little nose up against my window with “Are we there yet?” on my mind, but pure vapor on my lips.
On and on we’d drive, whizzing past buildings, signs, cars and towns. It was all so dull to me then. I mean, if you’ve seen one scraggly palm tree, you’ve seen a dozen. Though I loved visiting my grandparents, I greatly disliked having to seemingly trek halfway across the galaxy to reach them. If it weren’t for the graffiti scribbled across the trains, I don’t know what I would have done.
My mother has been rifling through some of her prehistoric belongings lately.
Old birthday cards. Old Valentine’s Day cards. Old Mother’s Day cards. Old Christmas cards.
From overpriced Hallmark Signature greeting cards to good ole’ fashioned handmade masterpieces, that woman has somehow managed to keep every single thing I’ve ever given her since I first learned that it was socially unacceptable to ignore your parents on holidays. So, she’s been harboring a lot of junk for a really, really LONG time.
I have no idea how she’s managed it. Her closet is like an extension of the Smithsonian, only instead of it being full of valuable relics of the past, it is full of complete garbage that her only child gave her: Me. You are most welcome, Mom.
Well, today she ever so graciously passed along two bits of antiquity that I gave her back in 1994. She thought I would find them “funny”. I then decided to share it with you guys, but please do not judge what you are about to witness. It’s sincerely a crime against humanity, but what’s done is done.
For some reason, today’s throwback post really caught me off guard. I’m unsure if it was because I hadn’t remembered this particular event until I read it, or if it was due to its eerie similarity to the night I tearfully screamed, “It’s over! Don’t you ever call me again, you “blanking” (expletive)!” into my phone’s receiver.
Oh, I was so dreadfully dramatic at that age. It makes for wonderful reading though, so I won’t spoil the end for you.
It is amazing to see how something can go from looking like the best idea ever to looking like a dire mistake in the short span of 24 hours.
After publishing the first of my old blog posts last night, I spent about three to four hours going through the entries that followed it. When I exported my posts they were spat out in XML, which rendered them poorly formatted for copy and pasting purposes (you know, the easy way of doing things).
Naturally, I couldn’t leave it looking like that, so I had to get to work editing out the nonsensical characters and organizing everything by date. I also needed to remove any blatantly personal information, typos, grammatical errors, unintentional redundancy, certain individual’s names, and excessive expletives (I was quite fond of sailor’s speech back in the day).
Sure, the work ahead will be positively tedious (I’ve only gone through 2.5 posts so far), but I strangely enjoy searching for errors. What I haven’t enjoyed as much is reading the things I had to say about myself. This is why I now wonder if I’ve made a mistake in thinking that I should share these old writings. I am afraid.
First and foremost, I want to wish all of the mothers (and mother figures) out there a most beautiful Mother’s Day. I hope that everyone takes time out today to celebrate and reflect upon their own mother (be they biological, adoptive or otherwise) because I believe it is important to always acknowledge those who have made a contribution to our lives—however large or small that contribution might have been.
Secondly, I’d like to just say that as great as your mother may be, mine is like, waaay more awesome…no offense. Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit cheeky (What’s new?). All jokes aside, my mother is truly one of the best women I have ever known and I’m not even being biased due to sharing half of my DNA with her. Read More
Hi, everyone. This is a poorly thought out, spur of the moment post about my crippling, possibly irrational fear of being cheated on. It will be long, it will be candid and it will be mildly
entertaining embarrassing. Enjoy.
When I was a young girl, I genuinely believed I had everything all figured out. I’d be married by 25, with child by 26, and we’d all live happily ever after, amen. Boy, was I stupid as a kid! I will never understand why my mother allowed me to watch so many Disney movies growing up. I am convinced that those were the original Nigerian scams.
That being said, screw you, Cinderella and Snow White. You’re both liars and con artists peddling bulls—t to little kids. Jasmine and Ariel are both like, waayyy better than both of ya’ll, but somehow you two are always considered “the real princesses”. You and that sleeping beauty girl that nooobody ever remembers. You both just suck. Go. Away.
I’ve had a lot of dreams and hopes in this life.
Some came true. Some didn’t.
Of what remains, I’ve mostly given up on ever attaining them. I say this not because I am a defeatist or “negative Nellie” (or negative Nell, in my case), but because I am too tired.
I feel as though I say this a lot these days—this, “I’m tired.” Of course, I never say it aloud because it isn’t something anyone would properly understand. I mean, if someone was ever around to hear me.
It’s crazy how the news of someone else’s day can sometimes impact yours in a deeply significant way. When someone I know told me that a young lady from their place of employment had recently been found dead, I felt quite sad. I tried to shake the feeling all day, but it lingered.
First of all, I always hate to hear of people having their lives stolen from them—especially young people. Whether it is due to crime, accidents or illness, it hurts me to learn of all the young souls who have their lives cut short. Unfortunately, I see it every single day. They are robbed of the opportunity to achieve all of their dreams, so we lose the chance to see what contributions they could have made to the world. It’s not right.
Secondly, news of this untimely death brought back painful memories of someone I once knew and held in great regard. The familiarity of the story gnawed at my heart and drug me back to a time I try very hard to forget. It was a time rife with disappointments, upheaval, uncertainty and feelings of betrayal. I don’t talk about events from this phase of my life very often, but I will today in hopes that it may help someone else out there understand the importance of always saying what should be said today. Tomorrow is never guaranteed; I found this out the hard way.
When I think back over various events in my life, I often end up spending quite a bit of time strolling down memory lane. From the downright hilarious to the absolutely gut wrenching, I have had so many experiences etch an honorary and seemingly permanent place in my mind. Earlier today, I was randomly reminded of an experience I had many years ago. While I can look back and laugh now, it was hardly funny at the time. In fact, the scenario left me lost for words and sincerely mortified.
The interesting thing about this particular memory is that it was one of the very few times I can recall being embarrassed. Now, I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I rarely do or say things that genuinely leave me feeling that way. If anything, I am usually embarrassed for other people. Well, I guess you can say the story I’m about to tell you fell precisely into this category, only this wasn’t a case of an adult behaving badly. No, this was a matter of a child sharing his own brutally honest (not to mention humiliating!) observations. Beforehand, I had heard that kids say some of the craziest things, but this really took the cake for me.