My new routine includes me trying to do a few sit-ups and spaghetti-arm push ups every morning in the little tiny room/closet that houses my old journals. That's really all that it can fit--two bookshelves and a wooden Buddha statue. But it qualifies this house as a three bedroom, so that's fine with me. Better resale value. My reward for this physical toil is to read a few pages of one of the journals when I finish--usually, I find something funny that I'd forgotten, and on occasion, I find some writing that I like. This is what I found today. It's a list of ten things about being a kid that I got from reading Lynda Barry's The Greatsest of Marlys:
1. Brown paper lunch bags with your name written on them.
2. Orange marshmellow peanuts, usually given to you by old people who have had them around for decades.
3. Bangs cut too short from giving yourself a haircut with your mom's sewing scissors.
4. Ripley's Believe It or Not--how the stories were sometimes terrifying like the 700 pound woman or the man born with octopus arms. I always believed it.
5. Baby doll who pees when you squeezer her stomach.
6. Army men.
7. Loving the rooms of teenagers and feeling like you'll never ever be old enough to put up your own concert posters or make a decent collage from magazines.
8. Baton twirling.
9. Putting bottle caps on the bottom of your sneakers so they would make tapping noises when you walked and you could pretend your were a trained dancer like from All That Jazz.
10. Making turkeys out of your own hand prints for Thanksgiving place mats that your mom then had to use to decorate the table.