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So who am I anyway, and why should you care about what I have to say? I wrote a letter to a new friend a few months ago, and she wanted to know all about me, so I did one of those random this is me and what I’m about letters. Of course, I erased it (I do that a lot), so I can’t copy it here, but I’m going to try to do it again. Some of this you can learn about me by visiting the rest of my webpage, but some of it you can’t.
I love music. I play the flute. I am a student. I study English and history. I speak four languages (in various degrees of fluency!). I love animals. My cats are named after characters from T.S. Eliot’s “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.” My bookshelf groans under the weight of all my books. I collect teddybears. When I wear my Queen’s leather jacket I strut, just a little bit. 95% of my CD collection consists of musicals. I am a Christian. I cried when I heard Princess Diana had died, and again while watching her funeral. I am a romantic. I am also a cynic. I do not tolerate stupidity. I do not tolerate people who betray their friends, even if they haven’t betrayed me. I was born in the wrong century. I think I might have lived before, but I’m not sure. I am afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I have a phobia of fire. I read my horoscope every day, but I don’t believe it. I watch soap operas. I keep a list of things that make me happy. Pictures are very important to me. I am addicted to email and the internet. Right now I should be doing schoolwork. I am happy to be alive every day. I judge movies, books and musicals by how hard they make me laugh, and how hard they make me cry. I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I’m ok with that. It drives me nuts when people ask me if I’ve “met someone special” at school yet - that’s not why I’m here. I lie awake at night and worry about things I know I can’t change. I have been known to dance with joy. I have a great appreciation of electricity, and will never take it for granted again. I have learned to live without television. For short periods of time, at least. I can’t whistle. I sing in the shower. I like to take naps in the afternoon. I eat peanut butter toast with chocolate chips on it. I procrastinate.
So that's what I have for now. I'll add more here as the spirit moves me.
I have a special place that’s always warm and bright. The sunlight streams in through the window, which looks out over the river and beyond. I can shut the door, wrap myself in my duma, and be totally away from the world. I am completely safe and secure. My room is lined with bookshelves which are crammed with old friends -- books falling apart from being read so much. The books that don’t fit on the shelves are stacked in untidy piles all over the room. In every little nook and cranny are pictures of the most important people in my life -- parents, sister, cousins, grandparents, my class in Denmark, the company of “The Sound of Music.” One corner holds my music stand; my flute rests on the edge, waiting for me. In another corner, under my bedside table, is my “memory box,” overflowing with ticket stubs, letters and that Hubba Bubba Watermelon gum wrapper.
There is always music playing in my room -- most likely from a Broadway show. I can sing and dance (sort of) and relive the experience of seeing those shows. Stacks of theatre programs sit on one corner of my desk. I have to do my homework on my bed because my desk is too crowded with more important things, like books, pictures, and my great-grandfather’s Bible. His picture sits on my dresser, which was also his. The drawers are full of clothes, but they are all too small or too old for me. The clothes I wear now are folded and piled on the floor of my closet, next to my suitcases.
My bed stands along one wall, big enough for me and my most important teddy bears. The rest sit on the floor, grouped by colour and personality. They all had names at one point, but I couldn’t even begin to remember them all now.
One corner of my dresser is gven to my medals and trophies, and the silk flowers left over from my skating days. The rest is filled with pewter figures of dragons, Pendelfins, and my jewelry box. In the air hangs the slight scent of the perfume I bought in that little corner drugstore in Holland. The candles give off their own special aroma, and remind me of Denmark.
Wander back to my wacky world ...
© 1997 write me!
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