2006.09.25 That's Just Childish
You're childish. That's just how it is. I could come up with a bunch of reasons why I would draw/write on myself:
- I couldn't find any paper
- I got bored
- It was accidental at first, but then I just kept going
- I like to do it
- Etc…
It seemed that the explanation wouldn't matter as far as my mother was concerned. She'd just give me one of those looks like, "You know what I want to say, but I don't need to say it because you can see this essentially evil and fairly intimidating look I'm giving you."
In some circles the look is called "The Hairy Eyeball". The look probably deserves its own entry, and could be so extensive and have so many authors as to take up several pages.
I digress. The point is, that even now as an adult I can't bring myself to write on myself. If I do write on myself, I feel some sort of obligation to get to the nearest sink and try to wash it off. The only thing I can think while it's still on there is, "That's just really childish." What if I still want to be child? Can't I write on myself, wet my pants, and smear food all over myself – then just wait for somebody else to clean me up? Although the convenience of one of those sounds enticing, I must admit that my views have probably shifted to be more in line with my mother's. I'll look for the smallest piece of paper on which to write before I resort to memorizing whatever it is. But write on myself? Now, now… that's just childish.
On the smallest of side notes, I'd like to congratulate myself on my 200th entry on this blog. There's plenty more where that came from.
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