In preparation
A little catch-up: Unusual events thread their way into the unexpected reality of what it means to "Prepare to Leave for France" --august 28th and present.
I am standing looking down at 6 unclothed dolls with my shirt wet to the elbows. An old and forgotten bathtub-side ritual has brought me here. Now I am looking at these figures confident and happily staring up at me, all eerily identical with pearly whites outlined in pink lipstick. You may recognize them too. Each of these red and white super-combos is complimented by a pair of extraordinarily blue eyes that remain undimmed even after all this time. Must be the blue blood. It began with a furtive glance. I had been teetering on the edge of my memory pool using an old tooth brush to scrub (to my surprise) the long forgotten beaming and adoring faces of B***ie and "My L***le P*nies". They had become a mere blur--- a pink feeling... a blue feeling..-- in my memory. Now I know the reason for the furtive glance. I have, I like to think, railed against these things with out looking them in the eyes since I pushed off childhood and headed for deeper watersâ¦well different waters. I have steered clear of their penetrating and petulant faces, for fear of falling back under their spell. It is a fear linked to the horror I will have if I discover that in fact early child-hood programming has left me susceptible to liking the colour pink.
All this just so I can sell these freshly washed insipient traitors to an innocent passer by. I have forgotten more than I thought. Including satisfying long hours of contentment. Time really was slower. Hours flowed like molasses. My childhood was laid out in front of me on blankets in the grass and boxes on the pavement. M. kept anxiously worrying that I was selling it all for too little. She is as attached to it as I am. More so maybe, she bought (into)it first. The proceeds from this sale/purge/closure will go towards a jaunt across the ocean. I say jaunt the same way I write childhood in miniscule letters. Neither takes up quite the same space in writing as they do in my head.
**And although I have yet to make contact with the primary school teachers I will be working with, I am kind of excited by the fact that I don't know what I'm doing or exactly how it's all going to happen...
I am standing looking down at 6 unclothed dolls with my shirt wet to the elbows. An old and forgotten bathtub-side ritual has brought me here. Now I am looking at these figures confident and happily staring up at me, all eerily identical with pearly whites outlined in pink lipstick. You may recognize them too. Each of these red and white super-combos is complimented by a pair of extraordinarily blue eyes that remain undimmed even after all this time. Must be the blue blood. It began with a furtive glance. I had been teetering on the edge of my memory pool using an old tooth brush to scrub (to my surprise) the long forgotten beaming and adoring faces of B***ie and "My L***le P*nies". They had become a mere blur--- a pink feeling... a blue feeling..-- in my memory. Now I know the reason for the furtive glance. I have, I like to think, railed against these things with out looking them in the eyes since I pushed off childhood and headed for deeper watersâ¦well different waters. I have steered clear of their penetrating and petulant faces, for fear of falling back under their spell. It is a fear linked to the horror I will have if I discover that in fact early child-hood programming has left me susceptible to liking the colour pink.
All this just so I can sell these freshly washed insipient traitors to an innocent passer by. I have forgotten more than I thought. Including satisfying long hours of contentment. Time really was slower. Hours flowed like molasses. My childhood was laid out in front of me on blankets in the grass and boxes on the pavement. M. kept anxiously worrying that I was selling it all for too little. She is as attached to it as I am. More so maybe, she bought (into)it first. The proceeds from this sale/purge/closure will go towards a jaunt across the ocean. I say jaunt the same way I write childhood in miniscule letters. Neither takes up quite the same space in writing as they do in my head.
**And although I have yet to make contact with the primary school teachers I will be working with, I am kind of excited by the fact that I don't know what I'm doing or exactly how it's all going to happen...
posted by blueolive at 11:07 p.m.
1 Comments:
hello? is this who i think it is?
rv?
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