I’ve been doing research for my memoir. This involves an archaeological graphing of memories: digging through a 5 gallon aquarium, an ice cream cone box, a portable file box, and uncovering cerebral dust bunnies, where I store all my treasures. (Last night I also had a lengthy recounting of details, a bottle of wine, and a soak in the hot tub with my mom.) I discovered a short stack of Birthday books- books with nice words about me from my classmates in school.
It’s a fantastic find: looking back on my childhood with the pictures and hearts and rainbows of long-lost friends. I was kind of swept away in sweet revelry, and then, BAM! The words of a classmate who wasn’t really a friend brought me back to reality:
We know you’re weird but you have a good excuse. You come from a weird family.
So there you have it folks. I have a story to write and an excuse. What’s yours?
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