Streetcorner Symphony

Me: 1991.

"We should just dress you up and put you on a street corner."

Not exactly the positive message a mother would normally want to send to her three-year-old daughter.

When I went to school with my mother on Friday, we were on the way home when we somehow got onto the subject of this oh-so-special former mantra of Momma's. I told her that everyone I had ever told that she used to say this, thought it was horrible.

"Child prostitution is no joke, Mom."

"Well, that's what you looked like! Okay, what would you say if your little three-year-old daughter insisted on wearing a leopard print skirt and a shirt with different patches of animal print in different colors with red high heels?"

(I do remember the shirt she was talking about and it was AWESOME. As for the heels, they were a gift and I loved them dearly.)

She said I used to ask for these very ostentatious outfits and say that "But Mommy, I need them!" (Which totally sounds like me.) And in return, she would buy them with the caveat that I could not leave the house in them.

"I was worried about you! Who knows what kind of attention you might have gotten, what kind of people might have taken your picture. You were exactly the type that all those child sex perverts liked..."

"So you made tasteless comments?"

"[As if I'd never spoken] I always said, 'She's the one I'm going to have to worry about...' You know, with men."

"...uh huh."

"But I was so proud. You turned into such a prim and proper young woman."

"I guess..."

"I was so worried, Elizabeth. [at this point she looked deep into my eyes] I thought I was going to have to worry about you going around half-dressed, flashing people and things."

A little background on what I was like as a child: I liked attention. A lot. I had long hair full of bouncing ringlets, and was ADORABLE. All the old ladies at church used to tell me so. I was in dance, had a sparkling personality, and was more than a little precocious. I LOVED attention. So, I can see why my mom might have been worried.

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you, Mom...I just might have. Fortunately for you, I turned out to be fat."

"Yeah..."

And that's how the conversation ended. Just as offensively as it began. Seriously, though, I've never actually thought about what I would be like if my self esteem hadn't been shot to hell at such an early age and I hadn't become so introverted and neurotic.

And she is right (those words leave a bitter taste in my mouth), I probably would have been a little too outgoing for my own good.

Nostalgia of a college Sophomore (or is it Junior now?)

I went with my mom to school today. This involved waking up just as I was settling into a comfortable sleep. That part I was not pleased with. The other thing I was worried about was being able to find things to do all day; because I was there ALL DAY.

I seriously would have just stayed in my mom’s room which is basically a computer lab and amused myself but Facebook and email is blocked by the district, so…yeah. It actually was not that bad. My mom is crazy paranoid that the little sociopaths she keeps would "do something" to/because of me, so I was told I could go to the library or the teacher’s lounge. Even though I think that the library at the school where my mom teaches is wicked cool, I opted to spend some time in the teacher’s lounge for a while.

I brought a book and my Zune with me which should have kept me entertained for hours. Well, when my Zune ran out of battery before it should have (a big, giant “FUCK YOU!” goes out to Microsoft BTW) the book got a lot harder to stay awake through. It’s a great book, but I woke up before the sun, y'all.

So, I decided to sleep. In the teacher’s lounge. Aside from the fact that I found myself wishing I had brought my mask with me to cover my eyes from the blinding fluorescent lights, I had a nice nap. Woke briefly to text and answer a call from my mom, but other than that I slept another 2 ½ hours or so.

At lunchtime my mom brought me something to eat, and I texted Kirk about the chola baby (since I was reasonably sure he was awake). After that, I started getting ready to move over to the Main Campus of the high school from the Ninth Grade Center that I currently inhabited.

I got to see my former Debate Peeps! I went to watch the class period being conducted by way of an Ultimate Frisbee game. It was good. It was outside. It was hot as hell. But it was STILL GOOD! I saw my little Elsa, who is going away to COLLEGE! I cannot even believe that they are graduating and that it had been two years since I'd been back there. It was weird.

I talked to my coaches (including one of the top 10 most influential people of my lifetime, Mr. Yarbrough), and that was good. That was also strange. I felt like I was back in high school, but…different. They told me I needed to change my entire life plan because what the hell "are you even going to do with that degree"? In some ways it was like I never left. In other ways it was like I had been gone for centuries.


Next Entry: My mother and her too-frequent use of the phrase, "We should dress you up and put you on a street corner."

Summertime

Its Saturday. Which means my mom is home and not at work.

I fell asleep last night on the couch and not my bed, which is not unusual. The thing about being home for the summer, is I don't live alone anymore.

I woke up purely on instinct this morning. The reason I know this is that I hadn't actually planned to get up until much later than the 8:00 that I ended up being awoken.

As the haze began to clear, I realized I was not ready to be up. I tried rolling over, which usually works. Just as I was about to fall back asleep, I hear my mom's door open and close abruptly. No big deal, she usually walks through the living room to do whatnot.

Then I hear her footsteps stop. Right in the middle of the living room. Maybe 45 seconds pass and I think she's doing something or maybe looking through the mail super-quietly. I decide to take a quick look to make sure and then go back to sleep. Only, no. Because she was staring at me.

"Oh, good. You're up."

"Wellllll...Only kinda. Why were you just standing there looking at me?"

"I didn't want to wake you up when I went to make something to eat." (Our kitchen and living room are just separated by a bar counter.) "Can I go make something?"

"Sure."

I roll over, TRY to go back to sleep, and fail. My mother makes the loudest breakfast ever, and I am up for the day.

The thing is, this is not uncommon at home. I know, I know..."If you just slept in your bedroom, this wouldn't be a problem." Only, yes, it would. My mother comes to my room to tell me the weirdest things at the weirdest times and there's nothing I can do about it. She doesn't listen or absorb the things that I tell her. So the only remaining option becomes to deal with it. But dealing with it doesn't mean I can't bitch about it.

I am in for such a fun summer. With my mom day in and day out. Hooray.

Half-Done, but not Half-Baked

I just finished my second year of college. Say it with me, Blog...Yay.

I apologize if I don't seem quite as excited as I should be. Its just...I am reminded that I am ONLY half done. I have another 2 whole years before I graduate, and in all likelihood another 2-3 years of post-graduate work beyond that. Forgive me if I don't relish the idea of doing this for another half a decade.

I have plans, Blog. Life plans. I would like to get a job, get married, etc...Alas, it will have to wait. Life experiences in general always seem to get put on the back-burner for me.

In other emo ramblings...Momma cried for the last 100 or so miles of the trip because she is worried I am "becoming her." I don't think I will lose all my friends, adopt a few hundred cats, and die alone, but being here is already an issue. I need some friend therapy, and to know that I matter to someone other than my mother. *sigh* Things will just have to wait. I'll throw myself into unpacking the car once it stops raining...maybe that will distract me.

Thoughts on Finals

Blog, I am so ready to be DONE. It's not even funny at this point. It is finals week. I am sick. I am tired. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired, Blog.

I have nothing else to really say except for this: I am an undergraduate. I, legitimately, have nothing to offer to the academic community at large. Or the economy. I do not pay taxes because I do not work. I do not do research because I am not a graduate student. I am about as useless as minors are, except maybe even more so because after this year my mom will not be able to claim me and my schooling as a tax deduction.

As an undergraduate, I can not reasonably be expected to provide an answer to this question: "How can we solve World Problem X?" Umm...First of all, obviously, if something had been shown to be effective already there would be no need to even ask us that question. Secondly, I am an UNDERGRADUATE. No answer I could possibly provide would even approach brilliance to the point of being even remotely relevant. It would be irresponsible for me to speculate.

But of course, I cannot write that on my International Relations final.