Misshapen Constellations
For a long time when I read books about people older than I was I wanted to be a part of their world. The real teenager world I glimpsed through stacks of Young Adult fiction in the library; the poetry readings and concerts and the sneaking out past curfew, the driving around aimlessly and the lousy garage bands. I wanted it more than anything, and my little twelve year old self was seriously worried that there was something wrong with me. I never really shook the feeling that I was missing out on the exciting parts of my youth that I deserved.
It started when I was twelve, and didn't go away until this night. Strange, too, that I felt like I was living like every youth should while a relic of childhood loomed in the background. A green papier mache monster, with lazy eyes and a gashed out stomach, bled cardboard and red paint quietly in the back of the room. The monster looked like a child's drawing. I can't think of anything more reminiscent of childhood than a left over from a frat initiation ritual.
And I watched the indie bands until my feet grew sore, the back of my legs still ached from rowing, and I watched the bands and felt very American. And very much a part of what I had longed for when I was twelve. It's nothing to make a huge deal about - being where I want to be right now - it just sort of is. I looked around and felt like I belonged, and for the first time felt that it was an important thing for me to feel like I belonged.
Three of the bands sounded like carbon copies of each other. And the third - Discount - didn't sound as much different. The thing that mattered about them was that you could tell that the singer for Discount was a Rock and Roll star. She was like an unpredictable tin soldier. One minute marching in place, the other minute twitching and flailing and spitting all over the rug. There was something inherently mechanical about her movement, but it was still all over the place. I didn't even know her name, but I knew she was a Rock and Roll star. I could see it in the way her sweaty hair stuck to her face and flipped up and around, the way her eyes seemed to be lit up from the back of her head.
The whole time I was watching these bands and these people, these Americans, I was thinking about next year. I don't think that the college I attend will have anything like a frat house, or concerts like this, but that isn't what matters. Whatever I do next year, it will be a part of that imaginary land I was so envious of as a child. I slipped out without telling my parents where I was going, mulled over the difference between trance, Christian industrial, hard core, thrash, and Christian metal rock while inhaling chamomile tea at the coffee shop. Bottom feeders in a pick up truck whistled at Sue while we walked to the frat house. ("I wish I had some witty retort," I said. "It would have just made it worse," said Sue with a twinge of experience.) There's nothing so American as this night was.
I felt like I was the only one smiling the whole time I watched these bands.
I am going to college, have I told this journal that yet? I am, if all goes according to plan, attending Bryn Mawr College in the fall. I've wanted to go there for a while now. I visited it three times.
---
I wrote the above at 2:30 last night, and fell asleep. And this morning, I felt as though I were seeing and hearing and feeling everything through a smoky room. As though the messages from my brains to my arms were slowed down; everything was just a little numb.
Obviously, one of the strange things about writing an online journal is the fact that people may read it. I've always prepared myself for the fact that no one will like this and read it. So it was a shock that an acquaintance started talking to me about writing. It was strange how it happened too - groups of us were huddled around the computers at school, mucking around the pictures and the stupid IMs.
A guy - his name is Ed - came up and asked who had written the chat transcripts. I almost didn't take credit for them, but I did. "That's really great writing. You could fill a novel." I'm relatively sure he was talking about my journal and not the chat transcripts. I don't know or care if it's true - that I'm a great writer. I just thought it was interesting how surprised I was that someone I don't speak much to had read my journal. And actually liked it. I wasn't embarrassed. It was nearly admirable how I felt about the exchange; neither inflated nor upset.
---
My dad and the Prairie Home Companion joke edition is a frightening combination. "Where do otter's come from? Why, otter-space!"
Emails from him:
#1
Hi guys, I am going to be a while, i think it is fend for yourself, there is leftover chinese. If you want to make more rice, do it as follows. In small pan put twice as much water as you intend to cook rice. I cup of water for 1/2 cup rice. Make no more than 3/4 cup rice (plenty) by starting with 1.5 cup water. Add a little salt. Put the pot on the right
rear burner and turn heat to 8. When the water is just beginning to boil add and stir the rice, reduce the heat to between 1 and sim and cover the pot so that the steam can leak out the side vents of the pot lid (do not use the pot with the tight fitting glass lid) Rice will be done in 20 minutes. See you between 6 and 7. Dad
#2
Margaret, I'm so excited for you!!! I know you were worried, but I also knew how smart you are so I never doubted this would happen, this is just the first acceptance. Love, Dad
At 05:11 PM 3/27/00 -0500, you wrote:
>grinnell accepted me.
>
>i won't be living at home next year now!
>
>- margaret#3
Hi Margaret, I think the answer is yes, their email got out ahead of the U.S. Postal Service. I read in one of your letters that Kenyon letters go out on the 25th, so they probably think you got the packet already. I think you are on a roll. Dad
At 03:44 PM 3/28/00 -0500, you wrote:
>Dad, this is really strange. Does this mean I've been accepted there? I didn't get anything in the mail.>
>-margaret
>
>>Hello from Kenyon College!
>>
>>Congratulations on your acceptance to Kenyon College! Kenyon is one of the nations top liberal arts colleges, and it is quite an achievement to meet Kenyon�s standards for acceptance.#4
[I lost the email he sent me on my acceptance to Bryn Mawr, but the one from my English teacher was better anyway.]
Three cheers to you and for you.
I knew. I believed. Next time, maybe you'll believe. But maybe you did believe, but couldn't admit it. But now you know: It is very important to know who you are and what you are at all times. Next time, don't be fooled.
Now- Bask in the joy of it all
You'll love it; you'll love Philly.
---
I won't be fooled again. I stopped taking my prozac, so I better not let myself be fooled.
2000-04-01, A good sort of neurotic
before / after archives / website / hello book / diaryland