the darlingest wallflower


I realised today I haven’t done a things I like list for a while.  Things have got kind of heavy here since the good old days of list-making. I didn’t mean for them to. So.

Things I admire in other people but can’t do myself: Read while walking. Leverage (financially speaking). Yell. Bungy jump. Lie straight-faced. Cat nap. Speak another language fluently. Whistle. Save for a rainy day. Grow basil. Take the stairs.

That was a bit boring. So boring I started looking at unaffordable houses and now I’m thinking about washing my hair.

Today was one of those days. Australia got a girl prime minister. People talked a lot about the soccer. It rained and then it stopped raining. I took off my PR hat and put my earphones in. I had my neck manipulated. I had after work drinks, an impromptu drum lesson. The cats skulked in, glistening with rain. I opened some bills. When I got home my dinner was on the table but I wasn’t in trouble. It was (and is) Thursday night, so things were looking pretty good.

James said tonight that his first fully-formed memories of me were as a sulky teenager who hardly left her room. That’s probably not a very good first memory of me to have. But his memory serves him well. I was a sulky teenager, at least for a medium stretch, and did draw a fairly distinct battle line at my bedroom door. I can’t really dispute it.

The word wallflower had special resonance to me then, I remember. I didn’t really understand what it meant or how the word had come to be. But it sounded nice. How bad could it be to be a wallflower? I just thought it was my lot.

I used to write words down a lot then (like wallflower) so I’d remember them. Especially big long clever-sounding words. I still have a book with them in (it’s covered in red duraseal) — it makes me cringe to look at it. It’s not like they’re words I’d ever use these days, either, now that I’ve given up on writing down and using big words.

A friend of mine has just moved back into her childhood bedroom for a bit and she appears to be spending her evenings doing some rather brave excavations. The other night she emailed me a particularly vulgar poem I had written in maths class in form two. It didn’t even scan well.

Some of her recent tweet excerpts include:

25.1.90. “I watched Kylie and Jason’s wedding. It was soooo beautiful. I’d like mine to be like that.”

21.05.90. “I went to G’s today. I wore my Paisley shirt. She is high on New Kids on the Block. I don’t dig them that much.”

07.06.1990. “I want to wear my hair out and achieve a Dolly carefree hair look.”

She apparently also has it on record that I crimped her hair. I don’t remember that. But I do remember Kylie and Jason’s wedding.


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