Morning ramblings. Time to shower.
Jul. 30th, 2001 10:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpShe used to lie in bed and think about things. She still does, she supposes, but they are different things now. But now, as was then, she is perpetually caught up in a loop of thinking that evolves into thinking about her thoughts, and then thinking about thinking about them. A metacognitive maze indeed, and she wonders why she never gets enough sleep.
In 2001, her thoughts turn to activism, to music, to careers and marriages and money. In 1981, though, things were different. In 1981, an almost six-year-old boy burrowed into the Star Wars bedsheets (head poking out like a stubborn turtle) and thought. She thought about the other children in her first grade class, and tried to remember which ones had birthdays close to her own. Jason Gariepy. His was a mere three days before. She concentrates.
'Why?' she asks her thoughts, who never cease to answer. 'Why wasn't I born three days earlier? Then /I/ would be a Gariepy. A day later and I'd have been a Brousseau. A week, a Therien. /Why/?' Thoughts turned to imagination, a futile exercise about life in a two-parent family, of life with a parent who would softly rouse the child from slumber, instead of the startled self-induced awakenings intended to ensure she was awake before Dad. Life with parents who would cultivate her brilliance, who would appreciate her open arms and massive, anxiety-producing heart.
It was then she decided she was Christ, all over again. Her mind, age six, knew it was being persecuted, and to a Catholic elementary school pupil, persecution only roused one mental image. 'They're trying to beat and kill the love out of me,' she'd decided on a warmer metacognitive night, 'just like Jesus.' They hadn't succeeded. 'She's got a lot of love in her.' Who commented that one Sunday morning after church? Was it Louise? Fr. Dave? Grandma's cousin Millie?
'She's clingy,' Grandma answered, 'and doesn't know when to shut up. One of these days she'll grow up.'
In 2001, her thoughts turn to activism, to music, to careers and marriages and money. In 1981, though, things were different. In 1981, an almost six-year-old boy burrowed into the Star Wars bedsheets (head poking out like a stubborn turtle) and thought. She thought about the other children in her first grade class, and tried to remember which ones had birthdays close to her own. Jason Gariepy. His was a mere three days before. She concentrates.
'Why?' she asks her thoughts, who never cease to answer. 'Why wasn't I born three days earlier? Then /I/ would be a Gariepy. A day later and I'd have been a Brousseau. A week, a Therien. /Why/?' Thoughts turned to imagination, a futile exercise about life in a two-parent family, of life with a parent who would softly rouse the child from slumber, instead of the startled self-induced awakenings intended to ensure she was awake before Dad. Life with parents who would cultivate her brilliance, who would appreciate her open arms and massive, anxiety-producing heart.
It was then she decided she was Christ, all over again. Her mind, age six, knew it was being persecuted, and to a Catholic elementary school pupil, persecution only roused one mental image. 'They're trying to beat and kill the love out of me,' she'd decided on a warmer metacognitive night, 'just like Jesus.' They hadn't succeeded. 'She's got a lot of love in her.' Who commented that one Sunday morning after church? Was it Louise? Fr. Dave? Grandma's cousin Millie?
'She's clingy,' Grandma answered, 'and doesn't know when to shut up. One of these days she'll grow up.'
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Date: 2001-07-30 03:48 pm (UTC)You should send it to Reader's Digest ;).
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Date: 2001-07-30 08:16 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2001-07-31 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2001-07-31 12:23 pm (UTC)It was the 'Reader's Digest' bit that threw me, because that was always my oh-so-witty retort when people would tell me unfunny jokes. :)
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Date: 2001-07-31 01:27 pm (UTC);) means J/K! :)
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Date: 2001-07-31 09:10 pm (UTC)Aaah, Shel. Shel and his ABZs. Yes.
Maybe someday you can go to Detroit.