A Tale from the Memoirs of the Person I Was Almost

The day after my 10th birthday I woke up with a funny taste in my mouth.  Like steamed broccoli, but without the melted cheese sauce.

At breakfast I spooned sugared cereal slowly and thoughtfully into my mouth, wondering if more sugar would dissolve the funny taste.  It didn't.

It wasn't until I had gotten dressed and pretended to brush my teeth and sat down to watch reruns of mine and my siblings' favorite cartoons that I finally realized it.

Nothing had changed.

Now that I was 10 I still slept in the same bed, wore the same t-shirts, ate the same sugared cereals, and watched all the same cartoons as I had done when I was 9.  The only thing that was different from the past year was that I now finally had all my adult teeth.  But it turns out those were always hiding up under my other teeth, so I don't think it really counts.

No.  Something BIG needed to happen.  And fast.  Without really knowing how, I suddenly knew that if I didn't change something, I would never make it to 11.

My thoughts churned like ice cream in my gut until my parents asked me to get the mail after lunch.  And then there it was.  The answer to my dilemma.  A slick, yellow catalog of home listings.  I knew that was it.  I had to have my own place.

*  *  *

So, it's time for some explanations and a story about this other story.

First, the story.  For some odd reason I've developed a most frustrating sleeping problem this summer.  No matter the time or whether or not I've brushed my teeth, the moment I hit my bed, I can't sleep.  It's not that I'm wide awake, though, either.  I just lay there for who knows how long because all of a sudden my brain decides that it needs to figure out how much money I'll make this summer if I work an average of 20 hours/week for 13.5 weeks or how exactly I'm going to turn my grandmother's old cedar chest into a love-seat.  Originally, I was chalking it up to anxiety about my new job, but now that I've adjusted to the idea of putting my life on pause for 5 hours a day nearly every day, I don't know what the matter is.  Anywho, that was way too much info.  Basically, the other night, I was lying in bed, like I do, and I start thinking about how I was obsessed with the idea of living on my own when I was a wee, small bairn.  And then this happened.

Now for some explaining.  First of all, I want to explain a little about what I've just explained.  I don't want people to get the idea that I'm one of those types who keeps a notebook by their bed so they can write down all their genius ideas when they wake up with them in the middle of the night.  No, most of the stuff that occupies my mind at night are things I've already planned and written down, generally.  Things that I just need to get done, but can't because I'm lying in a bed, trying to sleep.  There was also no overpowering urge that forced me out of bed or violent muse that seized my mind until I penned these words.  I wrote this down because I liked it and because I wasn't asleep.

What I think I'm getting at is this.  I'm tired of the "artist" stereotype.  That creative people are simply born that way.  That ideas are more akin to spirits possessing the body than actual people using their actual brains.  I could keep going, but I'll stop there.  It's not that people place this stereotype on me, but I'm just tired of seeing it in the art world in general.  It's often made me feel like I can't measure up because I have no childhood trauma to inspire masterpieces or things like that.  And what's more, people who have a propensity for creativity are completely turned off, because they don't fit the culture.

Um, okay.  Why do I always let these "explanations" get so out there?  Moving on.

Another explanation.  Remember that resolution of mine?  The one about three posts a month?  Remember how my last post was in March?  And now it's half-way through May?  Yeah.  Turns out, I don't think resolutions are exactly the best idea for me.  When I make them, I'm so full of energy and feel like I can accomplish whatever task I set my mind to.  And I could, if only that energy would last.  Unfortunately, for me, that kind of energy doesn't last.  Sometimes I'll have it in spades for a decent amount of time, but other time I come crashing down and end up sleeping in my closet for a week or so while I hid from the world.  Well, when I finally emerge, I suddenly see all those things that I told myself I would do, and I see how I haven't done them, and then I get discouraged.  So, before I delve too deep into the incredibly pointless and boring ups and downs that construct my life at the mo', I come to you all with a solution to my resolution.  (A reresolution?)

I cannot take credit for this solution, as it wasn't even my idea.  My sister Megan and I love doing all sorts of projects together, but unfortunately we live too far apart to get together that often.  She suggested some type of combined summer project for the two of us, but I was perhaps a little too pessimistic and pointed out the statistical likelihood of its demise.  Eventually, she asked for a boon.  To join me on this blogging adventure.

I think it's a superb idea.  We both find a lot of fun a excitement from creating the day and double the authors means double the posts (and hopefully the frequency).

From now on, underneath each title, we'll put by Megan or by Amanda or some other mark of distinguishment so readers will know who they're reading from.  I think things are going to start turning up here, and I hope it will be enjoyed by all.

Ta!