Feeling:
Listening to:
Reading/Watching:

What if suddenly you were hurled backward ten years, and confronted with yourself as a child? What if you had a chance to chat and compare notes?

What would you say? What would you tell yourself? And would you live up to your childhood expectations?

This is half inspired by that movie The Kid (you know, Bruce Willis confronts himself as a squishy-puppy-cheeked eight year old?) and a short story I wrote for a weekly writing contest (one I probably will not win because the judges never understand my poetry and love schmaltz but anyway) where I did meet myself at the age of eight, almost nine, through hypnosis.

I think about it and Lord, what hope I could offer myself. At nine, I was almost despairing, if that's a proper word for a munchkin. I practically hated myself. I was beginning as a singer, beginning as a writer, and convinced I'd fail miserably at both if I hadn't achieved worldwide fame within five years. I hated my frizzy hair and gappy teeth and chubby cheeks and potbelly.

I wonder whether, if I could have seen what I'd become, I'd have been happier. With that ray of hope. :) I'd like to think I would. Because I'm a pretty decent person, you know?

And maybe looking back on exactly who I was ten years ago would help me appreciate how far I've come. That kind of perspective would make the next ten years look kinda hopeful.

Enough rambling. I had this better phrased in my mind yesterday, but my brain is tired now and it's time for bed.

P.S.- On parting company with Charlie Brown for what hopefully will be eternity, I shook his hand and wished him luck. I was too busy keeping my face completely bland to notice his expression, but my mom, who knew him for all of five seconds, said his demeanor was so fake, his body language so clear, that I don't feel bad for forgetting to apologize about hitting him with the shoes during the play. I almost wish I'd taken off my two-inch heels and given him another healthy whack right then and there. He had a miserable childhood, I know (he told me so himself during the tenure of the lie that I called friendship), and I wonder just how happy he'd be looking forward ten years and seeing... well, basically the same thing. A scared little boy who can't love and won't let anyone love him, who builds walls between himself and the world and doesn't realize no one is buying his fa�ade, who desperately screams for attention and spends most of his days trying to convince himself of how happy he is.

Good luck to him. Good luck and good riddance.

Comments? 0 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.