Brace yourselves, I’m feeling sentimental and chatty and Joel isn’t home to absorb the fall out. Continue reading “Sentimental Hoarding: A Clockwork Orange”
When I was 10, we had two TV’s with cable – one in the living room and one in my parent’s room. Between my brother’s Super Nintendo and my sister’s Food Network, I rarely got to watch it in the living room, so I commandeered my parent’s TV. My parents had a giant bed with 47 pillows and tons of blankets, and I had privacy – I flipped between Wishbone and MTV while writing stories about unicorns whose parents were ax murderers and no one bothered me.
I saw this on Instagram today –
And instantly, my first thought was, “man, 9 year old Audrey would think 32 year old Audrey is pretty lame.”
And then I thought, wait – 9 year old Audrey’s day during the school week consisted of
- taking an hour to wake up in the morning
- fiercely debating cutting her own bangs every morning
- sneaking her mom’s coffee
- taking too long to pick out clothes because she was too busy fantasising about clothes she didn’t have
- going to school where she was equal parts I CAN DO THIS and help me I’m so overwhelmed
- walking home through the woods so she could act out little stories running through her head
- typing out said stories on her typewriter while listening to music; or making elaborate plans to do or build or create something; or drawing killer whales, researching killer whales, becoming a killer whale, basically engaging whatever I was obsessed with at the time
- staying in the bath (never a shower – thanks Psycho) until the water turned cold
- falling asleep while watching a movie
- waking up to go to bed and reading books or comic strip collections until she passed out with the lights on
And I was all “that’s basically my same routine now.” So I’m basically living like my 9 year old self was watching. And my 9 year old self thinks I’m pretty rad – I mean, I can take showers without the fear of a cross dressing schizophrenic with PTSD stabbing me to death. I mean, I’m sure she’s disappointed that I’m not a marine biologist/killer whale trainer by day, novelist by night, actress and movie director on the weekends, married to Brad Pitt and living in a log cabin with a herd of dogs, but hey. You can only do so much in 23 years. Plus, now I can stay up late watching movies whenever I feel like it. Fuck yeah.
Hey inner-child, high 5!
How would your 9 year old self judge you?