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Refuge for the rational.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Get Back Jojo 

I spent the evening going through old pictures at my parent’s house. You may not believe this, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cuter kid. I had Smurf jammies once. There was a hat and a one-piece with little booties. I miss that. I miss a lot of things from my childhood. I miss Lego. I miss the illusion of a drug and sex-free Cory Feldman. The soundtrack from Gremlins. And the Care Bears. I also miss pen pals. I had a lot of them once.

I’m really disappointed that people forget about this kind of stuff. Something happens to most people around my age, and they suddenly begin acting differently and sanctioning you if you refuse to do so as well. I’m not really sure what the point is. People can’t stand to just do nothing anymore, and yet they spend their lives doing nothing—at their jobs, in their marriages. I pay my bills on time and I don’t need to eat dinner at the same time every day to do it. I like to lie around on the floor and sing along to whatever I’m in the mood for. That’s not constructive and I don’t care. I eke out a living and go to school and when I don’t, I shouldn’t have to feel guilty about just doing nothing. I don’t understand.

Once, one of my pen pals tried to send me a tiny plastic reindeer through the mail. I guess when they tried to put the envelope through a machine it mangled the letter, but they delivered it anyway. It came in a plastic bag and had black ink all over it from whatever chaos it had created in the letter-sorting machine. I was glad to get it. I moved to the city my friend lived in a few years later. Unfortunately for me, she had turned into a real bitch. We were fourteen, so I suppose it makes sense. She had something to prove, and I guess the distance between us had distracted from the fact that we were completely different people. Not just different, our differences were irreconcilable—for her, anyway. Pen palling in bad spirit, that’s what she was doing.

I want to have pen pals again, but people are so committed to their adult lives. I’m sure no one wants to exchange Cracker Jack prizes through the mail, but I’ll accept applications anyway. Anyone who is as disenchanted with propriety as I am can feel free to email me their address. I might send you cool stuff.
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