Your Favorite Annoying Teen

Converted from notebook to here with some additions as it was typed but mostly still raw.

It's been a while since I've visited you, Park, since the days when I would sit on your swings singing and thinking for afternoons on end, since the days of youth when we used to actually still hang out in the neighborhood, before time and such pulled us appart, before we aged into the Americans that never talk, never touch.

I was always on the fringes anyway. I was inately odd and between the ages. I didn't ride bike, didn't swim, wasn't a boy, wasn't a girly girl, wasn't a runner, never wore shoes, never played baseball, was always guarenteed to suck at the tagging part of hide and go seek (three times in a row of failing to catch anyone and mercy was had), but occasionally joined in on the games of soccer. I was just there making the random commentary and wondering if they played baseball in England only to be glared at by Kacey saying "Who asks that kind of a question?!"

It was always Kacey and I, two completely different kids, she the fat little annoying sister that I had a love/hate come-and-go tolerance and friendship together. But that's what happens when older brothers need to shrug off their younger siblings and neither of the siblings are particularly liked by anyone in the neighborhood. We bonded as rejects, because we only had each other out here. Kacey was all about family and country music and sort of just getting by and playing the tough girl when the neighborhood kids picked on her. She liked to rearrange her room. As she moved on from country music and in to the punk that I had been in to a good two or three years before her it was Simple Plan. I watched the DVD with her still have a burning image of one of the band members in the shower, bald headed but entirely hairy everywhere else and soaped up and surprised. Yeah, I thank Kacey for that one.
Kacey had the tendency to obsess over things even more than I did. Most of the time it was boys. For me even if I was in to a guy I would and still seldom ever do tell. I had a huge crush on a boy for three years before I even told my best friends at the time. A year later and the crush was completely gone. I was and still am like that for the most part. I won't tell until the fascination has passed if no one has figured it out. I am skeptical with heart confessions of that sort.

I was often in my own world anyway, better things to think of than boys. I was forever weaving stories, my head leaned against the window the bus or playing in room for hours or days upon end. I went into another world when I reached my writing stage and further more worlds when I got in to reading finally. I would sit in the world of stories and thoughts and thinking forever at the park. I formed my ideas on life and death and what might be heaven and what might be hell. I remember the long days at the park in the summer as my grandfather died, looking at the yellow tinted dusty world from my swing, the first left swing from the middle bars. I needed the park then, alone. I was losing important things in my life, like my gohoats, my best friends since the first grade.

In my years of homeschooling I was really just in myself, watching the world around me me spin and observing. I think I was sort of just a participant out of habit, not because I wanted to be.

It feels like the world has changed so much but the hills before me are the same shape, the corn is still growing in the first field.
The slide is gone, no balance beam (as we called the mysteries strip of pole that might have once had a teeter-totter), no tire swing- just the frame, no nets-just grass, no peeling paint on the well house- just imitation powder blue siding.
I always thought that expanse of grass was too damn empty, that out park was too naked. I still do.

It feels like I've been sitting here forever but it's just been that time drifting through fourteen years of memory or maybe more like nine or ten since I moved here. I have lived here for close to fourteen or fifteen years now.
I'm leaning against the oak tree in the box of stones with the one bench. They usually have picnic tables here but they keep taking them away because of the profanities and confessions that we deem is our right to keep writing and layering on to them. Dicks, that's just what happens to picnic tables.
Daddy long legs keep exploring me, one orange one popping up over my knee to say hello and run away again. Jason Mraz is my sound lr- two on my arm!- is my soundtrack with the sound of cars hissing along the state route behind me and pitter-patter of rain drops. My left hand is in a flow of my brain and completely fucking frozen to my pen. My ass is frozen too. I should move soon.

The world is gray and dark green today.

I'm going to be twenty in about six months. I've never counted myself by months before but twenty seems to be a significant number to me, maybe for the lack of teen, for that it means I am REALLY about to be an adult. Eighteen, nineteen, you're still a teen. Twenty...you are officially two decades old then. Yeah, kiss kiss, click click...right.

When the heck did I get these legs? When did this body happen? Since when do I wear skinny jeans in shapely legs that look like it's forever to the floor where my feet are in ballet flats. I can still see myself walking down the road in my floor length, belly-button high jean skirt that was a flippin' big deal to me in a skirt and thinking about my posture. How can that past me and this me be the same thing? I mean I know they are but time....I've been thinking about time lately....It is a funny thing.

It's nice to write like that in my notebook again.

Farewell.
~Lo

Your Favorite Annoying Teen Life in the Making
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Share on Facebook A summery of Your Favorite Annoying T... Hello, I am YFAT or Lo. I have been writing/around on Journal Scape for over a decade now. Time flies! This journal chronicles my random thoughts, high moments and sometimes low, throughout high school, college, and now beyond, into the world of "adulthood", whatever that means. Sinerely, ~Lo		2008-08-11 11:45 PM The Park Converted from notebook to here with some additions as it was typed but mostly still raw. It's been a while since I've visited you, Park, since the days when I would sit on your swings singing and thinking for afternoons on end, since the days of youth when we used to actually still hang out in the neighborhood, before time and such pulled us appart, before we aged into the Americans that never talk, never touch. I was always on the fringes anyway. I was inately odd and between the ages. I didn't ride bike, didn't swim, wasn't a boy, wasn't a girly girl, wasn't a runner, never wore shoes, never played baseball, was always guarenteed to suck at the tagging part of hide and go seek (three times in a row of failing to catch anyone and mercy was had), but occasionally joined in on the games of soccer. I was just there making the random commentary and wondering if they played baseball in England only to be glared at by Kacey saying "Who asks that kind of a question?!" It was always Kacey and I, two completely different kids, she the fat little annoying sister that I had a love/hate come-and-go tolerance and friendship together. But that's what happens when older brothers need to shrug off their younger siblings and neither of the siblings are particularly liked by anyone in the neighborhood. We bonded as rejects, because we only had each other out here. Kacey was all about family and country music and sort of just getting by and playing the tough girl when the neighborhood kids picked on her. She liked to rearrange her room. As she moved on from country music and in to the punk that I had been in to a good two or three years before her it was Simple Plan. I watched the DVD with her still have a burning image of one of the band members in the shower, bald headed but entirely hairy everywhere else and soaped up and surprised. Yeah, I thank Kacey for that one. Kacey had the tendency to obsess over things even more than I did. Most of the time it was boys. For me even if I was in to a guy I would and still seldom ever do tell. I had a huge crush on a boy for three years before I even told my best friends at the time. A year later and the crush was completely gone. I was and still am like that for the most part. I won't tell until the fascination has passed if no one has figured it out. I am skeptical with heart confessions of that sort. I was often in my own world anyway, better things to think of than boys. I was forever weaving stories, my head leaned against the window the bus or playing in room for hours or days upon end. I went into another world when I reached my writing stage and further more worlds when I got in to reading finally. I would sit in the world of stories and thoughts and thinking forever at the park. I formed my ideas on life and death and what might be heaven and what might be hell. I remember the long days at the park in the summer as my grandfather died, looking at the yellow tinted dusty world from my swing, the first left swing from the middle bars. I needed the park then, alone. I was losing important things in my life, like my gohoats, my best friends since the first grade. In my years of homeschooling I was really just in myself, watching the world around me me spin and observing. I think I was sort of just a participant out of habit, not because I wanted to be. It feels like the world has changed so much but the hills before me are the same shape, the corn is still growing in the first field. The slide is gone, no balance beam (as we called the mysteries strip of pole that might have once had a teeter-totter), no tire swing- just the frame, no nets-just grass, no peeling paint on the well house- just imitation powder blue siding. I always thought that expanse of grass was too damn empty, that out park was too naked. I still do. It feels like I've been sitting here forever but it's just been that time drifting through fourteen years of memory or maybe more like nine or ten since I moved here. I have lived here for close to fourteen or fifteen years now. I'm leaning against the oak tree in the box of stones with the one bench. They usually have picnic tables here but they keep taking them away because of the profanities and confessions that we deem is our right to keep writing and layering on to them. Dicks, that's just what happens to picnic tables. Daddy long legs keep exploring me, one orange one popping up over my knee to say hello and run away again. Jason Mraz is my sound lr- two on my arm!- is my soundtrack with the sound of cars hissing along the state route behind me and pitter-patter of rain drops. My left hand is in a flow of my brain and completely fucking frozen to my pen. My ass is frozen too. I should move soon. The world is gray and dark green today. I'm going to be twenty in about six months. I've never counted myself by months before but twenty seems to be a significant number to me, maybe for the lack of teen, for that it means I am REALLY about to be an adult. Eighteen, nineteen, you're still a teen. Twenty...you are officially two decades old then. Yeah, kiss kiss, click click...right. When the heck did I get these legs? When did this body happen? Since when do I wear skinny jeans in shapely legs that look like it's forever to the floor where my feet are in ballet flats. I can still see myself walking down the road in my floor length, belly-button high jean skirt that was a flippin' big deal to me in a skirt and thinking about my posture. How can that past me and this me be the same thing? I mean I know they are but time....I've been thinking about time lately....It is a funny thing. It's nice to write like that in my notebook again. Farewell. ~Lo Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top