Writing Prompt Wednesday: I was a lonely child.

Did you ever give a pet name to a plant, a car, a toy? Tell me about it! What made that item so important to you that you personified it?

Well, this prompt has my number. Okay. So I grew up an only child. I had a vivid imagination, I loved school, reading, and being left alone, and as such, I could count my friends on one hand. I didn't have time for anyone who didn't fit my vibe. Honestly, nine-year-old me knew who the fuck she was and what she was about. Anyway. Being alone most of the time was all well and good, but I needed someone to talk to. I had always loved having little friends to carry around - a stuffed animal, a small plastic toy, and in one case that is another story for another day, a Super Mario doll that I took to a sleepover.

This is the story of Spyri.

I forget exactly what year this was - third grade, maybe? My parents had bought me some decorative shells somewhere on one of our many trips to Cape Cod, and someone had the brilliant idea of affixing googly eyes to one of them: a long spiral shell that I named "Spyri," and fixated on immediately. I carried them around in my pocket, drew pictures of them in art class, and in all likelihood sat them on my pillow at night and lamented to them that my crush didn't like me back. 

One day, I brought Spyri with me to school. When it was lunch time, for some reason, I took them out and put them on the table to watch me eat a PB&J and some applesauce. You can probably tell where this is going. When it came time to clear the tables and go out to recess...Spyri was nowhere to be found. I had a perfectly natural response to this, which was to have a complete and total meltdown, crying hysterically in the middle of the cafeteria. The adults in charge tried to help, including one of the janitors who - bless them, honestly - dug through one of the trash bins full of pizza crusts and government-issued processed cheese food singles to try and find this stupid fucking shell with googly eyes on it that I had an unhealthy attachment to.

Alas, Spyri was nowhere to be found, and poor little me became so utterly distraught that my mom had to come pick me up. She still had to do the shopping for the week, and I remember so clearly being in the car when Pearl Jam's "Daughter" came on, sending me into hysterics again with the lyrics the picture kept will remind me, you know, because my shitty little art class picture I drew of Spyri, the anthropomorphic gift shop shell, was the only thing I had left of them. 

Prompt, I see that you are asking me what was so important about this little shell, and well. Even a surly little friendless nerd needs companionship, you know?

This time I mean it

So the last two years, huh? I really don't have any words for what so many others have already eloquently described at length; the best I can do is throw my hands up in the air and make fart noises. 

Yet, despite it all, I have made a lot of headway tackling some of my own goals during these Unprecedented Times (TM). I managed to stay active and lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 pounds. I got a new job that I'm really enjoying so far, after an almost comical and definitely incredibly traumatizing journey that I should probably write about. I started looking very seriously at my relationship with alcohol and cut my drinking back to almost nothing (something else I should probably write about!!)

And writing! I took a seminar through Grub Street in January called "Creating A Sustainable Writing Practice," and when I learned that the instructor was starting up a weekly Zoom writing group I signed up for that shit SO fast. And wouldn't you know, after the first session I decided it was time to dust off my novel and get to revisin'. 

So I'm back babey, and I mean it this time. Will be posting in here when the spirit moves me, talkin' about the writing process and grief and snacks and mental health and whatever else is on my mind at the time. Not going to overthink or edit too much and let's see what happens.

Ever onward, ever forward.