Monday, December 14, 2009

I found a fatal flaw.

I think it was about age 4 when I had imaginary friends. Sally and Baby.
Sally was brunette, wore a scarf, carried books, and talked about important things.
Baby had blond pigtails, wore a lot of pink, and giggled almost too often.
They seem like caricatures, hyperboles, an other words of elevated language that basically mean exaggerations. Exaggerations of what? If I had to venture a guess, and I think I probably do if I'm blogging about it, I would hesitantly say the two sides of my personality. Maybe as a 4-year-old I was trying to decide if I wanted to be Sally or Baby. The weirdest part (yeah, it gets weirder), is that Sally and Baby never got along, and both confided in me with their frustrations. So I'm self-conflicted.

Do you ever chew a piece of gum until it loses its flavor, and then have every intention of spitting it out, but get distracted and forget and hours later you're still chewing the flavorless blob and the back of your mind thinks "whatever is in my mouth is disguisting" but fails to transmit the message to the front of your mind until still hours later when you realize that you can in fact rid yourself of the agony that is chewing flavorless gum by merely spitting it out into the nearest rubbish bin? No? K nevermind.


  1. I used to take the caps off of 3-liter bottles and carefully lay pretty leaves and flower petals and other assorted flora in the bottom to accompany the fauna I'd catch and help nestle in among the bedding.

    A baby gecko.

    I had these instead of imaginary friends.

    Most of the time.

  2. Sally, I mean Meg, I am gald you found just the right mix of the 2 you's (or are there 3?)


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