The library of obsession

I cleared out all of my books, journals and notebooks from Mom and Dad's recently, to pile them up somewhere else. There's a little stack of journals on my desk here in my room. Those old journals are staring at me, acting like they're stacked all coolly and calmly like nobody's business; but I know they have it in for me....

As a child, I was obsessed with kittens. Naturally, then, I'd inevitably receive gifts with kitty themes, though I've never liked feline imagery to be on any object. Why, oh, why do I have a journal riddled with stoic cat images overlapping one another? Why did I never tell my family, "Please don't get me things that have cats on them," and therefore avoid the Christmas sweater incident? Sheesh.

The journals have annoying, beady little eyes that stare daggers into my soul. Though the daggers are rubber and probably were purchased from a joke shop by the kitty journal itself, the special effects are awkwardness and embarrassment only for me to enjoy. Annoying, floppy daggers.

I HAVE TO read these things. Just HAVE to! But... When I open them to try to get glimpses of who I used to be and find out what I don't remember anymore, I only find obsessive writings from a deluded teenager that thought she ruled the world. Ick. So uncomfortable. The pride and denial that ran rampant in my mind back then are disturbing to behold. The pride: I'm here as a personal savior to myself and to you. The denial: I know who I am, what romantic love is and which hot young thang I'm going to love regardless of actual reality. Eek. I had a habit of losing myself in fellas. I'd grown accustomed to adjusting myself and learning how to be like the dude I was "with," taking on his interests and having 4 mindsets I'd oscillate betwixt: make out, save the world by my own power while I try to add in the right words to make it seem that I'm holy and actually super-full of purpose and power from God, "time to perform!" (being who it seemed everyone, especially boys, expected me to be), and music (God seems to have really used music over the years to get through to me and help me grow up and get over myself).

I was thinking at first that I'd find some old writings that I'd want to share.... uh, no. Please, no. Do I want people to know the young mind of Kristina? Should it be inflicted upon anyone except God Himself? Well, I'd rather have people continue to like me, instead, honestly. I feel I may actually lose your affection if you were to know the mind of Kristina that dates back from January of 1997 to August of 1998: the time of the (dun, dun, dunnnn!) cat journal (and that's just ONE of many similar documented time-spans, though the rest are rather lacking in feline pictures). I hope this closing photo is a redeeming image that'll bring you happy, undisturbed thoughts, as puppies are known to bring out in the oddest of situations (disclaimer: no, that's not my dog; Allison knows that, but y'all else prolly don't...oh, and no puppies were assaulted by cat lovers in the making of this blog).





Love,

K. E.