Roomie, It’s Not You, It’s Me

So, in no chronological order, here I am reviewing my old embarrassing blogs. I thought this would be a good place to start. As I deliberated over which hidden* blog posts of my past would be excavated today, I actually was a bit disappointed in what I had left myself to work with. And, I was actually disappointed in my narcissism… Who really cared about my posts back then? The reason I wrote and read in the amount that I did in the first place was because I had nothing else to do anyways. Elementary school was a profoundly lonely experience for me after fifth grade when I was separated from my entire grade and put with the grade 6 class. Due to class sizes and other formalities, I and 5 other  girls were segregated, and the next years of my life would be trying to understand the dynamics of my old friends. So, a lot of my posts were trying to get attention/views/comments desperately. You’ll see so many changes in my writing style and so many mixed medias as proof of this as time goes on. In a way, this got away from me just being an interesting, funny twelve-year-old in all her honesty. Seeing those small moments of honesty in my writing, though, are what I enjoy most. That’s what I saw in this post. I thought about starting from the beginning of my blogging career, but I thought that would be far too autobiographical.  I wanted to not have to explain me or explain my story, just plunk you guys right in the middle of ten to twelve-year-old me’s babbling. We can discover and analyse me as we go along…

FEB 27, 2012

Yesterday, I must have been possessed or something because I decided to embark on the treacherous journey of……. cleaning my room. Yes, that’s right people! No more white walls for me, I now have a few decorations in my room which represent solely who I am. I also re-organized quite a few things including my now color coated**, size oriented, more likely to wear organized sock drawer. When I do something, I do it right!

I said goodbye to many items I no longer needed, mustering up the courage to throw away my first purse. It was Barbie brand, plastic, and bright pink. I didn’t say goodbye to it completely though, I cut out some patches of fabric and will be using them for decorating purposes later on.

What I’ve realized is that, no matter how cute the stuffy animal may be, YA DON’T NEED THEM! I have a huge laundry bag full of them! You know where they’re going? DONATED, BABY! All except for one, that offers sentimental value. Froggy. There’s a nice story to him….

Once upon a time, a young child (you guessed it, me!) and her sister went to the grocery store with their parents. They left their car locked in the parking lot empty. Upon their return to the car, the  young child discovered a little stuffed frog in the back seat. So, the sisters decided that seeing as the older sister had already a stuffed friend named Whiskers (a mouse), the young child would keep the frog. The young child was silently convinced that Jesus had sent the frog down to her as a message.

To this day, I have no idea where it came from. Creepy….

Maybe the detail passed you by, but something certainly caught my attention about this post: white walls. This is something about me that has never changed; none of my bedrooms have ever been decorated, meaning no paint, no posters… white walls. I really don’t know why, but having things on my walls has always made me feel more cluttered, especially when I have a stressful day/week and I take to my room to stress clean. If the room’s not bare, it’s not clean. Growing up with a sister who was artistic and painted, our bedrooms were a stark contrast. My bedroom was small, plain, and pretty bare. Her’s had purple walls covered in paintings and photographs with warm Christmas lights strung from the roof. She had a bunk-bed with funky sheets, a large desk, and a larger room, so visitors would often give a brief, uneasy look to my room before retiring to her’s for activities. Just from those details, many would think I was probably depressed, but, ironically enough, it is she that suffers from depression. When I first moved into my apartment in Montreal, about 7 months ago, I left it pretty minimalist as well; however my sister helped me hang some pictures in the living room. A few weeks after moving in, I received a large care-package in the mail from one of my friends; it contained several framed photos and a card, signed, “… so your home looks less like an asylum…”. Accurate.

Another thing that caught my eye, and ultimately made me choose this post to begin with, was the detail about my pink, plastic, Barbie-brand purse. I laughed, remembering how I toted that thing around. It was that kind of plastic material only 90’s kids would remember and closed with a large flap at the front, attached with Velcro… Does Velcro even still exist? Maybe on shoes. Anyways, point is, I used the HECK out of that purse. I liked it, but more importantly, I trusted it. It secured firmly with that Velcro, and actually had a couple of zipper pockets for change and things. Nothing was going to get lost out of that sucker… until that fateful day at the courthouse. I remember my dad had some tedious business to attend to downtown (going to pay rent and filing some papers for one of his lawsuits he was embroiled in). He is not by any means a lawyer, in fact, he works with computers; however, he liked to fight his own battles. We packed up into the car, my sister, bringing some forms of entertainment, and me, bringing my purse. I had a precious $20 in that purse, lip chap, and I’m not sure what else. After hours of hanging off service counters and winding around my dad’s ankles, we finally returned home. And would you believe it? The $20 was gone. I traced and retraced my steps in my mind and ran my hand over the inside of my purse a thousand times, but I could not find my money. I’m pretty sure that’s the day I cut that bitch up and threw it away, in all of its pink glory, for a more demure, flaming red satchel-purse.

*I have made private all of my prior posts and will be releasing one or two per week, depending on my schedule.

** No changes have been made to the original posts… Please bear with any grammar, syntax, etc mistakes.


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