obviously. so obviously."
- From the tumblr of Ryan Adams Tumblr ( quit? obviously NOT)
I think I've been writing and keeping some form of journal or notebook since I was in Middle School. At first, it was only because it was part of an English class assignment. But I started liking it, then loving it.... To the point I was slightly obsessed and found I needed it. That's pretty much how all things work for me. writing, relationships, work. I'm willing to Crash and burn with something I enjoy. I don't really see any way out of it. What looks like chaos to others is calm and control for me. At least the writing. It made me scared sometimes. What would I write next. Where it would go. How many secrets told, how many lies, how many times wouldn't I say her name, but want to. Then I do. Then erase, backspace..whatever it takes. But there is control there. the repetition of saying the same thing over and over and over in different ways. All for one thing. To forget. To remember. To let go. Fuel and release. If she is a drug. Words. These words. If so, then I am her junkie. Maybe if I confessed, I'd be be forgiven. The selfishness of the truth. Maybe it's that by showing yourself you face either love or rejection. That fear. That feeling of fear. It's just so enthralling.
So, I've kept on doing it . Some kids back then -they would draw on desks, or maybe actually pay attention in class. I would write. notes mostly. what i thought to be the most brilliant and heart capturing prose. If only I were ever to deliver one. If only I could somehow slip one into her delicate hands, surely then....One day I am in class and writing in my notebook. The speaker on the wall starts to static and crackle. An announcement from the schools sound system blasts out my NAME. Could I please make my way to the Principals office?. Tisk-Tisk the teacher looked at me suspiciously, everyone else ohhhhhhh'd and ahhhhhh'd me from thier seats. Some of the girls probably sensed a little badness in me as i walked past them in my Van Halen Diver Down tour shirt and feathered hair. Out the door and down the hall I felt like I did something terribly wrong, although I had no idea what it was.
When I arrived at the office it was the Principal and some other adults. They instantly converged on me and started to congratulate me on being voted 8Th grades MOST HANDSOME boy.
I thought either I was dreaming this or it was a joke. My Dad was a pretty elaborate jokester at times but this.....
Then I remembered a piece of paper passed around in Home-room with names , and you were supposed to check and vote. I just turned mine over and wrote a poem about how bad-ass I am at playing Donkey Kong and at kissing the girl next-door who's mouth tasted like Watermelon Hubba-Bubba.
Someone is talking to me now.. Focus -
The principal. Mrs Anderson, she presents me with a certificate. Official looking. My name, golden seals and Most Handsome 8th grade class. Nineteen Hundred and eighty-three. And so it was written. So it was done.
I walked back down through the maze of hallways and corridors, my heart pumping, and face flushed. How could this be?
When I walked back into class, the kids were apparently coached up to start clapping. The guys clapped and whistled extra loud just to be obnoxious. My friend yelled out.. " He's soooooo pretty " " Hello pretty one" then I think someone called me the Karate Kid.
"Thank you, Thank you one and all" I said. Now discovering some kind of confidence I never had before. If I was going to be a super-star might as well act like one. I went back to my seat, in the back of the room. The 15 minutes of fame, fading fast. Everyone settled down and I looked around at the girls. I kept thinking .. They had to have voted for me. right? I had to know. Who? Why? Would they date me now, kiss me, screw me? but everyone was back to doing their thing. No-one seemed to care about the most handsome fucking kid in school any longer. Wow. I thought, that was fleeting.
I took my notebook out from my Dallas Cowboys book-bag, opened it and wrote something of a story like I just did above. Then I got bored and started to make some shit up about this dog with 3 legs that I had befriended behind the 7-11 on my way home from school. The walk to my house from school was close to 3 miles and the dog , he followed me all the way. At home he would wait for me by the back door while I put on my "play clothes" and then we would head off into the woods together. Sometimes the girl next door would come along. She liked dogs and I let her name Him. There was more writing about watermelon gum and her lifting up her skirt for me to see her panties, while leaning against a tree.