Next, a little 1985 context. The entry this excerpt is taken from is my first after returning to the town where Mr. High School lived. Those of you unfamiliar with the Mr. High School saga need only know that I met Mr. High School in eighth grade, developed an insane crush on him over the summer between eighth and ninth grade and then I moved away mid-way through ninth grade only to return (partly because of a lingering, um, let's call it curiosity about him) at the beginning of our senior year of high school. This excerpt details my first sighting of Mr. High School upon my return to town.
After this melodramatic entry, it was nearly two months before he and I actually spoke to one another. Following the excerpt, there is a snapshot of the actual page from my journal on the evening of that momentous occasion. Perhaps this snapshot will give further insight into why I was drawn to the literary and not the visual arts.
One more thing: there are a few swearish words in this entry. I left them in for authenticity's sake.
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Monday, September 30, 1985
Being madly in love with someone who doesn't know you exist is not fun. Ok, that's a slight exaggeration. Mr. High School does know I exist. However, it seems quite obvious that he doesn't much give a shit whether I do or not. And in all honesty, why should he? It is unreasonable (but very creative) to think that the things that happened (or should I say didn't happen) between us would have haunted him the way they have me for the past two years. I have seen him only twice over that time and once he actually waved. However, this time 'round he was not in that kind of mood. I saw him last Wednesday at the Bloomsburg Fair. He freaked totally out of his mind when he saw me. Knowing him, he took it personally that I had come back to intrude upon his life. The thing about the Fair is that he didn't say word one or wave or even acknowledge my presence beyond the way his eyes nearly bulged out of his head and the way he nearly gave himself whiplash doing the double-take he did when he saw me. Maybe that's a good sign, the way he risked physical injury just to see me.
(The eternal optimist. Let's look at the bright side of this--so what if we have to bend over ass-backwards to find it?)
(That's going to be it on the subject of Mr. High School. At least until my stomach settles down. That's not to say that he makes me sick to my stomach. What he does do is get my nervous system in a panic. Not to mention the rest of me. So I think I will lay off the subject for a few minutes.)
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Wednesday, November 20, 2012
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| I'm really not at all sure what's going on here. The original caption says it's "creative elation." From this distance, it looks more like a travel guide into a severe hormonal disturbance. There's a watermelon, a banana, a purple smiley-face-thingy with a gigantic rainbow exclamation point down the middle of it (the stand-alone sun is the dot for the exclamation point). There is a flower on the right and then a rainbow with a stem on it on the left. The heart is the pot of gold at the end of a whole other rainbow. As to what's going on down in the lower right corner, I'm not entirely sure--a pink chocolate chip cookie getting ready to land on a bright red flying saucer with flashing yellow lights, maybe? A petri dish moon rising as double suns set behind a red mountain? I have no clue. I shudder to think what a Freudian would make of it all... |
*Seriously, you're better off reading any random post of hers than you are reading what I'm about to post here--I'll forgive you if you wander off.
That drawing is like something I would do NOW. I love the color. And the thing is that you gave it a good title. The rule is this: The art can look however it comes out. What is important here is the title. That, as Mma. Ramotswe would say, is well known. That's why it doesn't matter that all my animals are crazy. They have good TITLES.
ReplyDeleteAnd Mr. High School didn't know what he was missing. I had one of him, too. I think now that he's a highly successful psychologist who pays golf. I mean, really who needed that? Jeez.
You are too mean to yourself! I like reading Tara's stuff but I always perk up when you've posted something!
ReplyDeleteThe guy on whom I had a crush probably never really noticed me - except when he needed the answers in our Latin class - i always had them and he knew it. Bingo! Use a female to get what you want.
That date, November 20, 1985, has a familiar ring to it. My third son Lito was born on that day. "The Spiral Notebook" scores again!
ReplyDelete*giggles* I like this post. I've given up on keeping a notebook. .. the ones I kept at thirteen embarrass me so much I've decided to save the older version of myself further humiliation. I'll just keep my thoughts to myself from now on. If, however, I did keep one, I would totally fill it with crayoned art. Definitely.
ReplyDeleteYou had me smiling yet again! Thanks for the insight into the teenage you, I now know why I didn't journal as a teenager...you did it for me ;-)
ReplyDeleteLoves because it sounds like you need reminding we love reading your blog!
I wish I had kept my teenage diaries, but they were just awful. Always about boys and how no one understands me. Well, I thought they were awful when I reread them shortly after they were written. Now, I think I would have really liked them, and have found teenage me to be sweet.
ReplyDeleteI do so love your Mr. High School stories. I really think you should just combine them all into one massive collection, illustrations and all. They tell such a rich and interesting love story.
ReplyDelete