Old notes from high school

In leiu of blogging, I have been reading a fabulous feng shui book entitled “Clear your clutter with feng shui,” and watching Hoarders. I’ll say that one more time; I’ve been reading how to clear my clutter and watching the show Hoarders.

I’m a malleable person, soft and easily persuaded into most things. I get easily hooked and addicted to sensuous activities that highten my aesthetic pleasure. So, naturally I was swayed into gutting out my entire bedroom yesterday starting from 10 in the mornin’ till 2 at night.

I cleaned out EVERYTHING. I didn’t think I had so much stuff, but it was stuff that I would see everyday, but not see. It’s hard to explain – I would see it, but care so little about what I was looking at that my brain didn’t recognize the item.

When you stare at something for a long time, details blur, stuff smears together or downright dissapears from your periferals. Like when you look at your old marti gras beads you aquired by doing god-knows-what, still wrapped around one of your dusty lampshades. Your brain doesn’t see them, all it see’s is a lamp that can be turned on.

During my frenzied cleaning spree, I came across old notes from high school. Not the kind you write down while listening to teacher, no. The kind you write instead of listening to the teacher. Back then we didn’t have texting, so we would write a note and fold it up into a rectangle or square and pass it to a friend. I have accumulated four plus years of notes given to me from friends and ex-boyfriends. Four years, nearly 1,000 notes.

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Those are my feet on the safe I stored all my notes in.

I taken out the folder marked 1994 and thumbed thru it. I was thirteen-fourteen years old and my best friend at that time was Mmmmm…..I shouldn’t say her name, I’ll just call her Peg. Me and Peg were inseparable. She didn’t allow me to be friends with anyone except her, which was fine with me for a while since I had no other friends. And she would order me around like I was her puppet – that’s what my parents called me, her puppet. But then she would squeeze me, hug me and love me and I loved the attention. But she would hug me so much that it made my parents nervous. She would cuddle with me on the couch when watching movies and hold my hand in public, you know, that sort of stuff.
We were young, too young to drive, so we hung out with my mom a lot. My mom would take us everywhere she went – grocery shopping, cosco, K-mart, and as long as we knew nobody in the store, Peg would have me hop on her back for a piggy back ride. I found this to be embarrassing as hell and I always refused at first, but then she would get upset, so I would ride her back and start laughing hysterically out of the ridiculousness.
We fought so much. Every single day we would have vicious fights with each other that only worsened as we got older. But we still hung out together. We were seriously codependent. Once we got into high school, the friendship was doomed. I started talking to more people, she would talk shit about my new friends and cause fights with everyone.

We used to write in a notebook and pass it between us during school. She would get mad when I didn’t write as much as her, or answer all of her questions.
Here’s an excerpt from our notebook. One of our friends claimed to be suicidal, but peg still gave her a hard time.

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Our fight in the middle of science class was our last. She stormed out of the room never to return. A few days or weeks later, she dropped out of school altogether.

I never heard from her again until she friended me on facebook a few years ago. Here’s a picture of her freshmen year I think.

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After Peg, there was Kurt. We lived in walking distance from each other, so would hang out a lot. We hung out a lot until he got weird. Here’s one of his notes.

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That’s pretty innocent for the most part, but they get increasingly strange. Here’s one he wrote me after pretending to kill me (which seriously almost made me wet my pants).

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And here’s his ultimatum letter;

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Continued on back….

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He also wrote me saying if I didn’t go out with him, he would jab a nail through his temple on new years day. That note I don’t have, I gave it to his mother. That’s around the time he was leaving threatening voice messages on my answering machine. My mom wanted to call the cops on him, but I told her no.
Then rumors were going around that he was going to stab me in the hall on my way to class. I never told my mom about that, but she ended up calling the cops anyway.
I gotten a very strange message on my answering machine of someone breathing deeply and making evil growling noises, so my mom blamed Kurt and played the tape to the cops who agreed it was disturbing and decided to put a restraining order on Kurt.
But those frightening sounds on my answering machine were not from Kurt, they were from my mother! I figured out a week later, when it happened again, that it was my mother asleep on the phone. She called me to wake me up for school in the morning and fell asleep after she dialed.
Anyway, he ended up self mutilating himself and went to a mental hospital.
Do I feel sorry? Yes of course I do.
After Kurt, there was Brian. He was 21, I was 16. It taken me two weeks until he started annoying me by telling me how much he loved me. I tried picking fights with him to break up with him, but that didn’t work. Here’s one of his;

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And there was Doug. I really crushed Doug and still hate myself for it, but I was a kid who never experienced heartbreak. I never knew just how much I was hurting people.

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Here’s another letter from Peg I forgot I took a picture of;

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I had a really turmoiltulous (is that a word?) high school career, and that’s just grazing the surface.
Thankfully I had my normal friends to cheer me up.
I threw away all notes except the ones from Steph. I put about two or three hundred notes from her in a shoe box, and mailed them to her.

Okay, I’m done. My laptop stopped working halfway through this post, so I’m on my iPhone. My eyes are killing me. Unfortunately this will be my last post until I get a new laptop. I can’t blog on my phone, I just can’t.

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