i an chock-full of unacknowledged fears. they lurk there on the periphery, these fears, and i don't even notice them. i feel their effects (instinctually avoiding x,y, or z) but don't consider their source.

for example, i was trying to figure out why i am not more artistic. my sister lisa, who's 17, is hugely into photography and creates beautiful ("strong," she says) photographs. she has them hanging all around my old bedroom, so i spent lots of lazy time this weekend gazing up at photos of her best friends, her travels with her church to desert Arizona, the children she has baby-sat. i wondered why i wasn't more into photography. I have not picked up a camera, with intent to create art, in a long long time. why not? i thought. one reason has been uncloaked!

i am afraid of being cheesy. yes, it is true. it would be mortifying to me if i looked into my inner artistic soul and saw cheese. this goes for anything creative. what if i'm only as deep as a cathy strip in the sunday comics? what if i can't muster anything more meritorious than chicken soup for the something soul? anne geddes probably thinks her greeting cards are deep. what if i'm not only cheesy, but unaware that i'm cheesy.

so i tried to reason this out. if i am indeed full of cheese inside, i guess i just have to be okay with it. it takes all kinds, right? Monterey Jack, chedder, mozzerella, Velveeta, provolone...

5/31/2004 08:03:42 PM

This is how it goes when you're 17. You hang out at the Kahunaville restaurant/arcade in the mall for a few hours, and then he drops you off at home. And you go inside and go about your business. And then he calls you ten minutes later on your cell phone to say he's right outside your door again. So you go out there. And your two older sisters turn the porch light on and wave goofily out the window. They catch a glimpse of his skater hair and geek-cool glasses. And then, semi-frantic, you motion for them to turn the light off. So they do.

And when you come back inside, you close the front door behind you and lean back against it. And you say, "So he's my boyfriend now!" And your sisters say, "Huh?" And you say, "He just asked me to be his girlfriend!" and you are all smiles and red in the cheeks.

I don't remember 17 being an easy year, but damn, it's gotta be easier than 23.

5/27/2004 08:53:43 PM

 more: archives