Ok. I’m going to be honest. I haven’t had much to write about lately. My life is pretty steady. I go to work, come home, attend a class (Monday, some Tuesdays, and Wednesdays), and sleep. Weekends are spent with B (mainly lounging).
There’s just not anything interesting to tell you about.
However, a week or so ago, my favorite site posted an article with a letter to the author’s younger self. I wrote a brief one in the comments, but I decided to expand upon that with more detailed ones for you all to read, since I am terribly void of intelligent, passable thoughts. I’m going to try to write one a day for five days, so that maybe, I’ll get my writing mojo back:
Dear Michelle at 6,
Wow. Lots has changed since you’ve started school. You’re six now, in the first grade, yet most days you could pass as a 10 year old. You’re beyond awkward and tall, and you hate that on picture day, you have to be the last to line up since it’s shortest to tallest. Adding insult to injury, you have that wavy pixie cut going that will only make you look even more like the boys you have to stand next to.
For the next four years, you will grow ever so slightly. It will be a dream- everyone rising up above you as you make your slow ascent to the front of the short line. And that pixie cut, well, you’ll rock that until you turn 22. Sorry. Mom’s inability to comb your hair now will only create a crippling inability to deal with long hair tangles and up-dos. Proof:
But give mom a break. She’s doing her best. It’s hard to be a single mom raising three kids. When she’s working till 10pm, way past your bedtime, it’s because she loves you and wants to get you those shiny, white bunk beds for the bedroom in your new house (which will be built, even though you think it’s taking longer than Noah’s Arc).
Let me put it this way, it’s like when Angela, the kids next door, and you had that arts and crafts sale in Nana’s front yard. You wanted to quit so you could play house and take care of Teddy, but you wanted money to fill your piggy bank. Filling that blue plastic pig will take a ton of effort and lots of glitter on that paper plate. But in the end, that’s the only way you can afford to buy play food for your favorite bear.
Speaking of arts and crafts, stop crying when you get glue on your hands. You look like a fool.
You especially look like a goof to the three boys you are madly in love with. This will last until you turn 16 and get your first boyfriend (and you’ll realize that they are as stupid as they were at 6). When NF plays cops and robbers with you, it’s not because he wants to hold your hand. When AA calls you smart, it’s because he needs the answers to the math test. And just ignore that “i luv youe” note from DE… he wont mean it ten years later.
At six, you should enjoy your awesome birthday parties, ignore your sister when she sits on you to get the couch, and ask your aunts for all the help they can give on your math homework. You’ll need it later on. Dont worry about boys, makeup, your parent’s arguments, or the fact that the mean girl keeps telling you that you still have your “baby hair.”
Just be a six year old, even if you still look like you’re going on 12.
Yourself, 13 years later.