And a picture of me at age twelve.
May. 22nd, 2008 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingI am finally going to throw away my junior high and high school yearbooks. Last night I wondered, why did I drag them from California at all, why have I been lugging these around for so long? I hated school! And all those people who got pictures in the activity pages? I happy not to be reminded of 97% of them!
I'm going to take photos or scans of the signed end pages, so as not to incur uncertainty regret later. Then, good riddance!
There was one thing of a similar nature that I will keep, that I cherish. It's our school picture from 1984, sixth grade. There's Mr. Litchman (sp), my homeroom teacher and the school VP, one of the few teachers I ever respected. I took the photograph out to pester L, pointing at Becca Timpson, my tomboyish best friend, and various other children whose names I still clearly remember. The back of the photograph is signed, yearbook style. For I think all of us, it was our first time with the tradition. I still find the messages charming. We were told pointedly not to use profanity, and that included "b-i-t-c-h-i-n-'." Wishing a gnarly or radical summer was acceptable.
I'm in the front row, knees together, wearing pastel. Smiling demurely, without teeth showing. I don't look the way I thought/remembered I looked. I don't exactly look different, either.
Some time years ago, I must have amused myself by rolling that photograph inside of another panoramic -- one from the twelfth grade. I didn't bother looking at that one, yesterday. Moved on to finishing packing a box with WIP notebooks.
I'm optimistically going to say that I am 50% packed, but over 75% organized. I made my reservation this afternoon (I'm driving). I have an appointment for one last hair cut from Christopher. Addresses are switched. And I still have a week before I leave!
I'm going to take photos or scans of the signed end pages, so as not to incur uncertainty regret later. Then, good riddance!
There was one thing of a similar nature that I will keep, that I cherish. It's our school picture from 1984, sixth grade. There's Mr. Litchman (sp), my homeroom teacher and the school VP, one of the few teachers I ever respected. I took the photograph out to pester L, pointing at Becca Timpson, my tomboyish best friend, and various other children whose names I still clearly remember. The back of the photograph is signed, yearbook style. For I think all of us, it was our first time with the tradition. I still find the messages charming. We were told pointedly not to use profanity, and that included "b-i-t-c-h-i-n-'." Wishing a gnarly or radical summer was acceptable.
I'm in the front row, knees together, wearing pastel. Smiling demurely, without teeth showing. I don't look the way I thought/remembered I looked. I don't exactly look different, either.
Some time years ago, I must have amused myself by rolling that photograph inside of another panoramic -- one from the twelfth grade. I didn't bother looking at that one, yesterday. Moved on to finishing packing a box with WIP notebooks.
I'm optimistically going to say that I am 50% packed, but over 75% organized. I made my reservation this afternoon (I'm driving). I have an appointment for one last hair cut from Christopher. Addresses are switched. And I still have a week before I leave!
