Destiny Drawer
Lately it's been securing somebody else's secrets. Why am I bearing that cross, still? Not to pass the buck, but it hasn't been mine for a while now.
I mean, who looks at the little basket under the hot air balloon? I've realized conceit's the real reason people hate emo kids. With that bright red balloon of connotations and memories, I forgot what else that drawer has in it. So I took a pin to the balloon, stashed it someplace else, and scraped the drawer off its high shelf in my closet.
Where'd it come from, anyway? I may have it had it the better half of my life. It's hideous, it's dark brown, it has two tiny wheels, and it may have been an unremarkable part of someone's very ugly kitchen. And mostly, it's full of doll clothes. There was the one lacy, polyester dress she came in, but I made all the rest. Dresses and sashes and jackets and capes and lots and lots of bonnets. This calico dress is for school, this satin bonnet is for a party, the white cape edged in blue and red matches the blue dress and is for the Fourth of July. The sorts of things every girl and her doll does, but lots of it.
None of them were good constrution, really. I'm too impatient to be much for sewing.
The doll has tangled, matted blonde hair and no name. She isn't really very beautiful.It was about the clothes, putting them on and taking them off. Her limbs are bent from it. It's sort of nice, you know. A little bit of preordainment. You could write it in my biography. Right?
And yet - I did lots of other little girl things, without the doll. I took ballet and riding lessons. I had playdates and I read lots and lots of Nancy Drew. I wandered around outiside for hours and hours. What gives, what gives the future?
I mean, who looks at the little basket under the hot air balloon? I've realized conceit's the real reason people hate emo kids. With that bright red balloon of connotations and memories, I forgot what else that drawer has in it. So I took a pin to the balloon, stashed it someplace else, and scraped the drawer off its high shelf in my closet.Where'd it come from, anyway? I may have it had it the better half of my life. It's hideous, it's dark brown, it has two tiny wheels, and it may have been an unremarkable part of someone's very ugly kitchen. And mostly, it's full of doll clothes. There was the one lacy, polyester dress she came in, but I made all the rest. Dresses and sashes and jackets and capes and lots and lots of bonnets. This calico dress is for school, this satin bonnet is for a party, the white cape edged in blue and red matches the blue dress and is for the Fourth of July. The sorts of things every girl and her doll does, but lots of it.
None of them were good constrution, really. I'm too impatient to be much for sewing.
The doll has tangled, matted blonde hair and no name. She isn't really very beautiful.It was about the clothes, putting them on and taking them off. Her limbs are bent from it. It's sort of nice, you know. A little bit of preordainment. You could write it in my biography. Right?And yet - I did lots of other little girl things, without the doll. I took ballet and riding lessons. I had playdates and I read lots and lots of Nancy Drew. I wandered around outiside for hours and hours. What gives, what gives the future?
posted by Anna at 4:26 PM
2 Comments:
Growing up is hard, i learned that last night. It is so much nicer being young, nieve, and unaware of the world.
I PLAYED WITH DOLLS(alright, actually, I despised them, I hated being girly, as ironic as that sounded since I was always told how pretty I was in ribbons and the like)!!! I even too made them clothes. How insane, a childhood memory I can relate to. Crazy...hey, how long did it take you to learn to ride a bike? We need to have a conversation on childhood memories sometime...
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