I’m not a blogger. Never thought I was. I’m more of a writer. I’m going to leave this here, and I’m going to try and add some stuff here and there, but no promises. I’m much faster at typing rather than writing, but writing is so much more personal. I have journals that i can read. Other people can read this stuff, which seems a little bit scary, especially since this is all just for me. So.. don’t be looking..
I was thinkin the other day – simply because i have just now begun to do so – and I had a conversation with my good friend at work. We were talking about memories, and how they are skewed. I told her that I didn’t have many memories of my childhood, because I didn’t have a mom to tell them to me. I think thats true. I think that all of our childhood memories are simply stories that we have made up images too in our little minds to help us remember dumb stories that our parents thought were simply the cutest little things ever. For example, when i was like 5 i cut up a dress my mom had bought me for easter. I got a spankin. My mom told me that was the worst spankin that i ever got. I always tell the story and its “title” is the “Only spankin i ever really remembered”.. which is not true. When i sit and think back really hard – i do not remember it. I have no visual of it. I cannot nor could not tell you the color of the dress, the size sissors or where it happened. I could tell you where, and what the room probably looked like, simply cause i lived at the house for a few years but i dont personally remember it. But my mom does. She knew exactly what it all looked like – and she told me, and i adapted those thoughts, her images, as my own. I think this happens with a lot of our stories of the little selves we used to be. I think a great deal of our childhood memories belong to someone else, and we dont really own them. So please!!! enjoy the memories that you have or have been given by your parents, because mine are few because i dont have anyone here to tell me what cute or obnoxious things i did as a child. I will never know, not until i get to Heaven, and by then i won’t stinkin care. I’ll be walkin on gold, who would care?
While I was walking back to work a guy passed by me with a limp. He was wearing blue jeans and a striped shirt and he had his back pack on. I immediately thought, what happened to him. Why does he have a limp, then I also wondered, why did he pick out that shirt to wear to school today. I only think about me and my tiny little world, but this guy has his whole wardrobe different from mind. And the guy walking toward us, has a completely different wardrobe than the both of us. So many people with clothes that are different. Why do we pick the clothes we do? Then I thought, maybe his life dysfunctions was why he picked the blue striped shirt. I wanted to ask him if his parents were still together. Then I wondered to myself, if I asked each person I passed by, how many would say yes, my mom and dad are still married? Probably not many. There are probably more people that aren’t married anymore than that are. This is kind of sad. I don’t really know why I think so much. This is my first semester to think this hard. I guess I’m just a wondering type of person. I think people should think. People should think about everything that they know and believe.