This is the lowest form of procrastination and I'm ashamed (I have a report to write for school). No, the lowest form would be Fbook, where I just seriously spent 1/2 an hour looking at people from elementary and junior high. Just looking, not friending or anything as bold as all that. I went to disparate schools, all over the place and spent my 20's in a city completely unrelated to any of the schooling places so I have never had a chance encounter with people who "knew me when"...this is kind of obsessing me lately, weirdly and strangely. At heart, the best I can figure why, is I'm trying to confirm that I really existed. That I was a little kid somewhere, a teenager, a way too crazy early 20's person, that I really was all those different parts in different places - not just a box of photographs somewhere. I'm trying to glue all the disparate fragments together and make a whole picture - but why now? Why is this obsessing me right now? I want to sit in the middle of 50 people who knew me when and just see how it is. If you don't have a big family, if you move a lot, if you are (rightly) afraid to ask someone you knew 25 years ago if they would like to be your virtual friend and see your updates about homework - I guess this is how it is. I'm yearning for some kind of belonging or something. It's so odd. Maybe I just need a trip to the West Coast to remind me I actually have friends who have known me before library school and babyville and North Carolina.I think that's exactly what I need, actually, but it's outta reach for now.
Also, FBook related, I hearby solomenly fucking swear to NEVER have my profile picture be me and Simone. I am a person, alone. Not just a Mom. It drives me so very crazy, which also seems odd, and hard-hearted. Like I ever change my profile pic or update anything anyway, but still, I swear.
I wonder if anyone has ever procrastinated by Googling my name. That seems so unlikely that I actually laughed out loud.
To distract myself more, I am watching the Hrtbrk Kid (the original with Charles Grodin). Is there anything more soothing than 1970's era Neil Simon movies? Just the opening credits are like a balm to my apparently sad soul.
Paper, write the damn paper.