Rock & Mineral Composition
Did any of you guys keep diaries when you were a child? I did. I was a shitty diary-writer, too. I would go months on end forgetting to write, probally because I would loose my diary in the massive piles of clothing, toys, books and dirty plates that piled up in my room. I was an overachievingly messy child. (Did I just make that word up? I am not sure “overachievingly” is a real word. Well, I’m trademarking it, then! Mine!)
When I would ask to go to a friends house, the mall with friends, or various slumber parties, my parents used to use my desire to do something – as an opportunity to get me to clean my room. Very quickly I wised up to this attempt at parenting and I got to where I would ask to go to a friends house at like 7:55pm on a friday night.
My mother would say, “Clean your room first!” and I’d go up to my room in a vain attempt to clean it up. But it really was too much to do. Honestly, it was TOO messy. The room should’ve been condemmed. I would come down in a panic, “Mom, Mom, I will not get it done in time before I have to be there…!” So they’d relent…I could go, but I’d have to clean it up when I got home, or later over the weekend. And of course, that never happend. I’m sure they were wise to this trick of mine, but they usually let it slide because I was a good kid. Never did drugs, or came home plastered and pregnant.
Where am I going with all this? Well, I was going through some boxes (where is that yellow purse?!) the other day and I found my diary. Oh, it was sad. It had all my little dreams and girlish hopes for finding a boyfriend, lamenting over never having been kissed, all about how I liked my friend Nikki better than Kim (who was a total buttface monkey butt), discussions over wether or not I should wear the ruffled purple polka-dot top with the pink leggings? Gnarly! Radical! (Don’t you love the 80’s!?) The diary did bring back a lot of memories and it was fun to read, even if Terry was reading over my shoulder laughing and mocking some of my silly girl thoughts. (Men!)
I thought I was so covert about the diary, too. I even had a faux cover calling it “Rock & Mineral Composition” with a little fake few pages at the beginning to deter readers. Although the fact that I usually hid it under my piles of clothing, magazines, stuffed animals, kudos wrappers, shoes, et cetera should’ve been enough of a deterrent. I mean, seriously? Who did I think was going to go searching through my room for my diary? The FBI? Was the president sending special agents over to gain insight into the innermost thoughts of myself? Did he want to know that the frozen yogurt shop in Rancho Penasquitos had the best yogurt ever. Yes, very top secret thoughts. Really.
My diary even had a name. For some reason I referred to my diary by the name…”Moonwind“. I cannot explain this or justify it. It is what it was. Where did I get that name? I have no idea. I was obviously an odd child. Possibly dropped on my head as a baby. And according to the diary, Brian Workman was like totally cute in his neon orange “Rusty” t-shirt. Rad.