Posted by: scintillatingspeck | March 31, 2014

Revisiting 1989.

I wrote this on April 6, 1989.  Apparently I thought a) that whatever small amount of money I had in the bank would be enough to get me to the west coast, b) that having a car was the key to my freedom and safety, and c) that bears might want to be friends with me rather than rip my head off.  Overall, though, I do recognize myself.  I wonder what I would have done if someone had handed me a copy of the Teenage Liberation Handbook at that time (except it was first published in 1991).  My older self looks back on this almost-17-year-old self and thinks, girl, run, run while you can, you have no idea what’s in store for you.

Never too late to be a nomad, though.

Oh good heavens, please be heavenly, I need heaven or hell anyplace but here.  My poetry class is so depressing.  The kids are obviously totally uninterested and I don’t understand them or their thought processes.  Mr. M rambles on and on and he never assigns anything and we never DO ANYTHING!  NOTHING!  We never do a single bitty thing.  It sounds inconceivable but it’s true.  I go to that class four times a week.  I spend 2 hours and 48 minutes in that class every week.  I sit there and receive a blizzard of inanities, absolutely insignificant gossip and ramblings, and poetry is almost entirely ignored, at least by the students.  Mr. M tries to focus but he just CAN’T.  He must be utterly confused.  It is days like this that make me want to give up on everything, just leave school and leave home and stop doing homework and writing and getting ready for college applications.  I could just leave, I really could.  I could take my car.  One Saturday, I’ll wait until my parents go out to do something, and then I’ll pack a few bags and throw them in the car, and a sleeping bag, and some food, and my bank book.  I’ll take a journal along and record absolutely everything that happens to me.  I’ll go to the bank and take out all my money.  I’ll leave my cat at home because I might not be able to take care of her.  Where should I go?  Hmm.  I suppose I could go to California or Washington State or something.  Or even Canada.  Yeah, I could go to the Northwest Territories.  I’d have to bring the canoe.  That would be a pain but I could handle it.  I would go to some small town, get a job, make some money to buy food and maybe rent a place.  Maybe I would write home, but in such a way that they couldn’t find out where I was.  How could I hide the postmark?  I could get the person at the post office to smudge it.  Maybe I would meet different people.  I would have to avoid robbers and rapists and murderers and stuff but I have a car, so I can always drive off.  Unless my car breaks down, in which case I would have to get it fixed.  Or else buy a bicycle.  Or a horse.  But I don’t know how to ride a horse.  I could go out in the woods and make friends with the bears, and live in caves with them.  Or I could save up my money and buy a plane ticket to another country, maybe Luxembourg.  Maybe I could team up with another person and just travel around the world in a nomadic way, avoiding my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles.  I really just want to get rid of this awful sadness in my chest—I wish it would go away and leave me alone.  It’s hateful.

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Responses

  1. ah, jen, so delightfully young 🙂 i love this.

  2. And now, you begin the journey anew; this time with your daughter!! Love with you !! 🙂 Namaste


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