In case you were wondering, yes, this is my second grade class photo. I’m the goober standing to the right of the teacher, Mrs. Walker. I have the two braids tied in oversize hair ties and the strange preppy sweater my Mom made me wear on picture day. I don’t know why I’m not smiling, but it could be one of three possible situations. 1. I simply wasn’t ready for the photographer to take the photo. 2. I was really pissed because they put me in the back. Or 3. That was the day I blew chunks on the bus and I was about to keel over from a diarrhea¬†fever.

I remember stupid little things that nobody else bothers to keep in their brain pockets. I remember dreams I had when I was six, the smells of my first grade classroom, which tables I sat at during lunch… But a few funny, disappointing, and scary (but most of all funny) memories are burned in my brain forever. I’m sometimes told by poop-heads that these memories aren’t worth anything and they don’t matter because they’re in the past. I doubt these people remember what it’s like to be a kid. I doubt they think it’s important to remember what it’s like to be a kid, but it is. Adulthood sucks.

I won’t always be young and be able to remember all this crap. So I might as well write it down.


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