May 17, 2009
Well Mackenzie, you’re almost eighteen and graduating high school. Let me just say, I am utterly sorry I cannot be at your graduation ceremony today. Though I hope you didn’t mind us calling to say hello.
I remember when you would come and stay with us for a week or so over the summer. My parents would pay you to watch my siblings and I and clean house a little. I think you were either twelve or thirteen when you said, “When I’m eighteen maybe I could drive you to the mall and we could go shopping together.” Or at least something like that. You have always been my favorite cousin and the nicest. Using your manners and if you ever did get mad or annoyed by me, you didn’t show it. I used to look up to you like you were the coolest girl on the planet. You would take me to the mall or play Barbies with me. There were times when you didn’t want to hang out with me, but you never did it in a mean way.
Now you’re going to college and turning eighteen and I’m still stuck at school. It feels like some parts of the years go by so quick while others drag on, and two weeks can feel like two months. Occasionally we would email each other, but I ran out of things to say. All I can say now is happy graduation and good luck when you go off to college this fall.
February 16, 2009
I was thinking. If I was offered the opportunity to be a journalist for a music magazine (possibly Alternative Press or Rolling Stone) or to be a guitarist in an amazing band. Which would I choose? I had wanted to play guitar since I was nine years old. Practicing my air guitar in the privacy of my own room, completely spazing. Or pouring my guts out with ink and paper in hopes of becoming an utterly brilliant writer.
Being in a band would be quite interesting. I’d enjoy the fun questionnaires you get in interviews and your “humble” opinion on things. Looking super fierce in when you play live so you can intimidate people. Or to be some coffee drinking freak, blinded from the sun, glued to your computer, writing obsesser. Wearing T-shirts and tight jeans, strutting around like you know what you’re doing. Reader, does that thought ever cross your mind? I wonder where life will take me quite often. Who will I end up being in the next couple of years (I’m hoping I’ll stay true to who I am now.)?
Reader, let’s be honest. Would either of those jobs fully satisfy me? I seem to be quite an undecided person. I purchase an item at a store. “I love it! I’m so happy I bought it!” The next twenty minutes. “What the heck did I just waste my money on?! I could have bought ‘such and such’.” Yep, that is me. Being on the road with a band would be fun for a while. Awake at all hours, doing what you love, traveling, and playing shows. My only problem? I get motion sickness. I’d practically be bulimic. Then the shows would get tiring, performing the same songs until you write a new one. I suppose I shouldn’t think so negatively, maybe I’d be able to make a big impact on a lot of kids. Then there is writing. After a while, what is there to talk about? You are usually seen with a pen in your hand or your eyes are burning from staring at a computer screen for so many hours.
I guess I can be quite the “party pooper”, but that’s just me my friend. You either do or don’t like me, I don’t care too much. Either one I’d love. Writing would be easier to handle, though I’d miss the comfort of my guitar, Bella, too much. The excitement of playing a gig and going crazy on stage sounds and looks intruiging. Who knows where the world might take me….