“You can listen to a song so sad that it makes you feel happy. That stretch of emotion that pulls your heart one way or the other still invokes emotion in you and is relatable” –Weston Smith
Fiction. Based on a True Collection of Thoughts
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional
I’m a person who has an active imagination. It runs 24/7 and daydreaming is my professional sport. It’s a never-ending movie with varying segments and full surround sound. But I can’t get it onto paper, either through words or paint. If only you could plug a cable up to my brain and project it onto a screen.
I once tried singing a song to my friend after we had an argument because it worked in movies. It didn’t work. Thanks a lot, Disney.
I almost set the house on fire because I wanted to watch a napkin burn.
For the longest time, I didn’t know how to spell necessary and thought disdain was spelled distain. Took twenty-four years to master that one. Even with an English degree, I realize how little mastery I have over the English language. Didn’t need to know how to spell to get into the program.
In elementary school, I tried selling drawings until some kid ratted me out. Made good money until someone snitched. Now, it’s called Etsy.
I collect wooden boxes, rocks, old books, and teacups. When I die, my estate sale will keep people guessing about my life.
I’m not a good liar. I smile too much.
I can’t ever just casually like something. When I find something I like, I get obsessive and fall down the rabbit hole. Just ask my Star Wars and DnD dice collection. I used to be ok before I found those things.
When I get embarrassed, I turn red. Or my face is just always that color. Of course, once
people draw attention to it, it only gets worse.
I can’t follow map directions. I argue with the GPS and will always inevitably get lost somewhere along the way. It just happens. I don’t know why.
The first time the boy I liked tried to kiss me behind a tree, I yelled “Ew” and ran away. He’s married now.
In high school, I rode a pallet jack down the hallway after we had finished distributing yearbooks. It was the most fun I ever had.
I quote movies and TV shows too often. Humor helps me cope. Sarcasm is my art.
I like those communion wafers that taste like nothing and have the texture of Styrofoam. I don’t know why; they just taste good to me.
Sometimes I pretend not to know things or that I don’t know what’s going on so people will leave me alone.
I ran a red light once and I cried about it at work. I thought I was going to jail. It reminded me of the time I stole Pokémon cards from a Walgreens as a child and thought I was going to get arrested when my mom caught me and made me apologize to the manager.
I cut my bangs off in 3rd grade and had to spend the whole year wearing a bandana to hide my handiwork. Now, I just pick at my split ends.
One time at the grocery store, the lady handing out samples stopped me and asked me if I was old enough to have one. I was twenty-two at the time. It was similar to the time a camp counselor yelled at me for being out of my room without a leader even though I was a leader with a badge around my neck. I currently have an AARP card with my name on it, just waiting to be activated, so I can get that sweet senior discount.
I try to plan out all my conversations, outline conversation topics and key points.
Otherwise, I’ll go off my notes and say something stupid I’ll think about for the next ten years.
I won a GoPro once, took it to the ocean, and promptly lost it.
I made a FanFiction account in middle school. I rediscovered it in college and thought it was created by someone else. I didn’t recognize my younger self. It was surreal. Now I use it as a challenge to my friends to see if they can find it like it’s the lost city of El Dorado.
Sharp things make me uncomfortable, yet I own several beautiful knives. A small collection one would say. Cotton balls are the true menace. Those make my teeth curl. Same with cheap yarn. No. Just no.
My favorite parts of movies and TV shows are the outtakes and bloopers. I live for blooper reels.
I’m a patchwork of bits and odd ends, crumpled bits and loose hair sticking to fabric, cat hair and graphite smudged along the side of my hand. An old woman in a young person’s body with an old soul that wants to eat Lucky Charms. A collection of rambling thoughts and knickknacks that will never be dusted. Bottled up emotions left to ferment like wine that I’ll open when I throw myself a pity-party. A patchwork quilt of past mistakes and accomplishments in the shape of a human just trying to live.