I Cried

By Miika Silfverberg (MiikaS)
from Vantaa, Finland (Flickr)
[CC-BY-SA-2.0
(www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)],
 via Wikimedia Commons

To make up for the blog's lack of content last week, I dug up another high school journal entry. More introspective than embarrassing this time:

Week: March 29 - April 1, 1999
Topic: I cried

I went to help my dad coach my little brother's soccer practice on Tuesday. I was only there for the last fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes were enough to make me cry.

Practice was over, and I was playing a 3-on-3 pick-up game with some of the boys. One little boy wasn't very good, and so the other kids would never pass him the ball. Then, as he was dribbling, his teammate jumped in front of him and stole the ball from him.

"Buh buh buh buh...."

(c) Kentuckians for the Commonwealth

Ack! I didn't post anything this week. Big sad face. :-(  Monday I was getting ready for I Love Mountains Day, Tuesday I was at I Love Mountains Day marching onto the Governor's mansion lawn (yay!), and then mid-day Wednesday my stepdaughter came home early with chronic constipation. After two whole days at home being a full-time stepmom by myself and weekend full of even more 5-year-old exuberance, my week has left me full of writing material and devoid of writing faculties. Think Goldie Hawn in Overboard: "Buh buh buh buh buh...." (minus the diatribe about the spawn of Satan at the end of the clip):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RndG23-Vu-k

I promise to share these stories of fun and flatulence in the week ahead. ;)

"Love Bites" - Le Fin

By Evan-Amos (Own work) [CC0],
via Wikimedia Commons

Missed the beginning? Click to catch up: "Love Bites" and "Love Bites" - Deux.

February 12, 1999

Dearest Jennifer,

     Your warnings about my turning the cafeteria into a chaotic love-fest have been duly noted. As you well know, Cornfed County High School will not be accepting deliveries today.

"Love Bites" - Deux

Missed the beginning? Read it here.

February 9, 1999

Dear Cupid -

     Thanks ever so much! You said, “Love is blind.” Well, infatuation is blind too, and boy did it ever blind me. But not to worry! Thanks to you, good buddy, my eyes were unexpectedly jarred wide open. I was sitting in Dairy Queen with a cute guy, thinking, Hey, this just might work out! Maybe Cupid and I aren't on such bad terms after all, when lo and behold, you shot me in the butt.

"Love Bites"

By Chordboard
(Self, from material in my possession.)
[Public domain, GFDL
(www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or
CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0
(www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

In honor of the upcoming Valentine's Day (or Cheap Chocolate Eve if your calendar reads "Midgetary"), I dug out my old journals from AP English to find a holiday-themed set of letters I'd written.... Ahhhh, "smells like teen spirit" ... and/or melodrama, b.o., and angst. ;) Enjoy!

***

February 1, 1999

Dear Cupid - 

     Hey, old buddy, old pal! How have you been since last year? Well, I hope! I myself have been doing much better.
     In fact, I'm writing to inform you that this Valentine's Day you'll find me in a much better disposition than last February 14^th, and your presence would be most welcome if you could see fit to hook me up. I need a man. So if you could get your bow and arrow of love aimed my way, I would be sincerely appreciative.

Dad's Attic Potpourri - Big Finish

By Alex Valavanis (Flickr) [CC-BY-SA-2.0
(www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

Catch up before we conclude. Click the text for Part I, Part II, and Part III.

Outside, we replaced our bouquets of moldy attic flowers with handfuls of puffy dandelions, violets, and wild strawberries. We stuffed red dogwood berries into the gaps of pinecones to be sold at our make-believe market alongside home-made mudpies. We threw the dollies and ourselves into the hammock and thrashed about wildly, buffeted by imaginary storms on invisible seas. We gave her mom mini-heart attacks, shrieking as the hoards of tent caterpillars hidden in the grass squished their guts between our bare toes. We were high on life, but we still craved danger...and height. Being genetically-doomed to shortness does that to a person.

Dad's Attic Potpourri - Part III

Need to catch up? Click to read Part I and Part II.

Leah's mom thought it was a dumb secret too. The plants might be hidden in the attic now, but he had been leaving his paraphernalia in plain sight for the past 23 years. Cleaning up – clues, or wet towels, or crumpled receipts, or dirty laundry - was not Al's strong suit; hence, neither was secrecy. Nor did he become more stealthy at harvest time. First, Al meticulously gathered his long-abandoned lab equipment: tongs for tiny bud clips, electronic balances for weighing crop yield, paper filters for rolling incense, test tubes for inhaling smoke to test aroma. Next, he commandeered the family kitchen for the drying operation – cookie sheets, oven, and all – with a wink and promise of brownies. Last, he left his gardening tools, scorched dishes, and trails of spilled potting soil strewn across every surface in the kitchen and dining room and trotted down to the basement to savor the smell of success. Very discreet.