Oh goodness. It has been so many months since my last post, and for that I must apologize to myself. I love writing; I love getting out what is in my head and trying my best to make it sound like me. After all, why do this if it isn’t for myself? Sure, you are there too, reader, but this started as a blog for me to write what the hell is going on in my head so I don’t implode. You know, a figurative vomitorium for my brain.

The word vomitorium reminds me of my Latin classes in high school. Don’t worry, I am not trying to brag. I remember nothing of Latin except for how awkward I was and how I dreaded being called on. In high school, I didn’t know padded bras were a thing until about my junior year; I was always so terrified someone would see my headlights when I was chilly- which by the way was every moment, and every room, in that building. I was bound to be that cold back then; I weighed all of 120 pounds. I had no meat on my bones! The building was sweltering in the warmer months because there was no air conditioning until my senior year.It was just your typical Midwestern public school system.

A little sliver of memory hit me just now… and I am not entirely sure why. When I was four or five years old, my mom worked for Taco Bell. I remember one day she, my sister, and I were there for some reason or another, and I told my mom I knew what the black writing on the trash cans said. I took a big confident breath and blurted out,

“It says Trash You!”

My mom smirked, then assured me it did not say that and instead said Thank You. I simply could not be swayed. It said Trash You and I would hear nothing more of it. I was a stubborn little peanut. My mom has had to put up with me through many phases of my life:

There was the phase where I played with worms and once cut one into pieces that represented a mommy worm, a daddy worm, and three baby worms, then I played house with them. My sister Candy refused to give me a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie until I washed my hands of the worm guts. Some people are so squeamish…jeez.

There was my compulsive liar phase. It did not matter what it was, I would lie about it, just to see how people would react. I was the worst.

I had my sewing phase, around sixth grade. I made so many pink and purple quilted pillows for my bed that I had to shove them all on the floor just so I had room to sleep on my twin bed. This phase coincided with my N’SYNC, Backstreet Boys, and Spice Girls phase. Just kidding, that phase is alive and well to this day.

By the way, I cared for my Tamagotchi like it was my child. Because it was, duh. Remember the A-Teens? Why did I think they were the children of Abba? Wishful thinking, likely.

In high school I had my hormonal depression phase, which over the years matured eventually into… good, old fashioned, homegrown depression.

TBC