Tag Archive | childhood

Mini CT’s Dream Jobs

Copyright: The Sticky Note Addict

Copyright: The Sticky Note Addict

Cookie dough taster.
Television watcher.
Bed tester.
Book reader.
Swimming pool tester.
Pizza taster.
Trampoline jumper.
Stuffed animal trainer.
Pepperoni eater.
Unicorn rider.
Chocolate taster.

These are the jobs that young CT wrote in her diary about. Agreed, she was wacky, but she was also a dreamer.
And as she wrote in her loopy childish handwriting, all of these must be exercized in a purely “preffeshenol” manner.

And you know what? Someday, older CT is gonna accomplish every one of these dreams. Yes, even the unicorn one, doubters.

Live long and prosper \V/
Sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

 

Graphic Drawings

cyanideandhappinessdrawing” – Oh look, you drew something!
– Yeah, do you like it?
– It’s wonderful! [more gushing ensues] But… um… What is it?
– What do you think it is?
– I, uh, a representation of death?
– No, it’s a forest.
– Oh of course, I totally see it now! Right, and here’s a person walking through it!
– That’s a tree trunk. Maybe I’ll start over again.
– I’m sorry, I really did try to be enthusiastic.”

I’ve never been the most gifted person with colored pencils, pastels, paint, blood or any of those artistic devices used to create a masterpiece on paper, canvas, cupcakes, corpses or whatever. My family has always been artistic: grandparents, aunts, parents and even siblings have a certain magical talent to create these wonderful drawings that look like they could be in any art museum. They each have their specialty: still life, nature, surreal forms, architecture… And of course I have one too, one that requires great, well, nothing: stick figures.

You see, the drawing gene seems to have skipped me. Sure, when I was little I took great pride in being able to connect the dots to make a snowman appear or color in a certain amount of shapes without going over the lines, but my abilities seemed to stop there. My brother started showing promise early, concocting things like trains and dogs, while I was left drawing teepees (why you ask? Teepees are basically triangles. That much I can deal with.).

At this point you’re probably thinking to yourself “Nah, she can’t possibly be as bad as she’s making herself out to be..” First of all, if you really are thinking that, it means that my mind manipulation techniques are finally working and I can start putting my world domination plan into action. Secondly, shucks guys, you’re so nice! Thirdly, I forgot what I was counting for. I know that they say that practice makes perfect, and while I agree to a certain extent, I have to concede the fact that at a certain point, if it ain’t happening, it ain’t gonna happen. So instead of lamenting the fact that I have the drawing talents of Godzilla, I’ll keep  proudly drawing stick figures living in houses consisting of squares and triangles under a sun that lives permanently in the upper right corner of the page.

Why am I suddenly being so generous and forgiving myself for making a drawing of Mars look like a giant apricot? Because I can paint in a different way: with words. The Mostly Confused Teenager is my canvas, the keys on the keyboard my brushes, the posts my masterpieces (I have a weird notion of masterpiece I know) and you, fellow bloggers, are my critics.

So in conclusion, thank you for making me feel artsy. In return, I promise never to publish a collection of my drawings, for the good of the world.

Live long and prosper \V/

Sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

 

Sea Pancakes and Toilets: Imaginary Friends

Yes, I had several. Now to all of you who are silently saying “Imaginary friends? Is she nuts?” I answer: 1) Yes, I am crazy. And quite proud. And 2) Come on, you know you had at least one too. From what I’ve gathered, having an imaginary friend is sort of a right of passage when you’re a kid. Some people may think that having friends who don’t physically exist is pathetic, and to them I say “BOY HAVE YOU EVER MISSED OUT ON SOMETHING GREAT”.

It’s not that I’m a social recluse and never had any friends. So sometimes I prefer staying home on a Friday night with a good book and a hot chocolate; that doesn’t mean that the only reason that I had imaginary friends was because I felt lonely (and let’s not even talk about Monday nights, when I am unreachable due to the amazing sport of football).

I got my first imaginary friend when I was pretty little, no more than 8 years old. I was reading Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials (you know, The Golden Compass and all that) and was fascinated by the concept of a dæmon, a creature that was essentially part of the person and from whom they could not separate from without great pain. So I decided that if Lyra and Will had dæmons and were the best heroes ever, logically if I had a dæmon I would be an amazing person as well. HA. I named my dæmon Manta. Why? Well… Because at the time I had an obsession with manta rays, or as I called them; sea pancakes. The fact that mint ice cream is my favourite flavor of ice cream also contributed to the name. I was young and innocent, don’t judge. At least, don’t judge harshly. Manta was there when I needed to babble to someone and I didn’t have The Mostly Confused Teenager to ramble on, when I was waiting all by myself for my always-late mom in the rain after school, when I wanted to make fun of my brother but no one was around. Plus, if someone asked me why I was talking to myself, I could always answer that I was actually talking to my imaginary friend, before staring at them with a mixture of befuddlement and disdain.

My second imaginary friend is one that is slightly/waaaay weirder than Manta ever was. His name is Fish, and he’s been my friend for so long that I can’t even remember when I started talking to him. This is awfully embarrassing to write, so I’m glad that not many people that I know read CT’s long winded blog posts. Still I hope that they don’t stop interacting with me because I’m such an absolute weirdosomething. See, I can only talk to Fish when.. um.. a toilet paper roll is finished. A roll with no more paper on it is the telephone that I use to contact him, at which point our conversations go something like this: “Hey Fish! How are you doing? I’m fine Fish, yeah. Ok so seeya Fish.” Now that I think about it these conversations are actually monologues. *sigh*

Still, my imaginary friends never socially hurt me (until now, I hope that this confession doesn’t The MCT’s death warrant). In fact they were a formative part of my childhood and made me into the person I am today. Whether that is a good thing or not I can’t tell 😉 Nonetheless they fostered a singular creative ability and view of the world for which I am eternally grateful. I’ve grown up a lot since the times when I heatedly debated with Manta on my brother’s level of silliness, but I haven’t forgotten the friends who helped me through some odd as sh*t days.

So parents, stop worrying because your kid has an imaginary friend, and kids, be proud! You’ll understand how a thought and/or dream can seem so real that it turns into something that you’ll cherish for the rest of your lives. Ladies and gentlemen, that is all. Peace out.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.