Today is one of those days where I have a million little ideas for things to blog about but mostly they're lost in the haze of my mind which is currently sluggish with sleeplessness and stressed about life.
It's during somewhat stressful times that I have a strange little yearning to be a kid again. Not a high-school type kid but back to about nine or ten. Life was so much simpler then. I was old enough to understand some things but blissfully ignorant of others. I probably have a completely different notion of how I was as a child to the way I really was but I suppose that's true of everything.
I was a reader, just as I am now. At that age, I think I was obsessed with Enid Blyton books. If you're not British, the name might not ring a bell but, trust me, she was the queen of children/young adult books at my age. She was a pre-J.K. Rowling if you take away the magic and just focus on life at Hogwarts. Of course, now, she's horribly dated but when you devoured books as quickly as I did at that age, you tended not to mind.
I know my mother used to want me to play with dolls. I really, really tried. I had the dolls. I had a pram. I had a tea-set. I'd get everything set up and I realized that I'd much sooner drink the tea myself and read a book than try to pretend my stupid dolls were talking. Which is ironic, given that I like my imagination and still use it as much as possible. I just didn't get dolls. They didn't do anything. Well, ok, so I had one that you could give a bottle and it would pee. At the time, I thought that was actually pretty cool. Now I wonder what possessed me to think a doll peeing was cool. Maybe it's because I've held babies and they've peed on me. When you have baby-pee on you, you tend to realize that it's not cool. It's actually a bit vile, actually. Fortunately, I've liked all the babies that have peed on me so I didn't drop them in disgust and say "EWW! GET IT AWAY!". Not that I didn't think about it.
I know my mother used to want me to play with dolls. I really, really tried. I had the dolls. I had a pram. I had a tea-set. I'd get everything set up and I realized that I'd much sooner drink the tea myself and read a book than try to pretend my stupid dolls were talking. Which is ironic, given that I like my imagination and still use it as much as possible. I just didn't get dolls. They didn't do anything. Well, ok, so I had one that you could give a bottle and it would pee. At the time, I thought that was actually pretty cool. Now I wonder what possessed me to think a doll peeing was cool. Maybe it's because I've held babies and they've peed on me. When you have baby-pee on you, you tend to realize that it's not cool. It's actually a bit vile, actually. Fortunately, I've liked all the babies that have peed on me so I didn't drop them in disgust and say "EWW! GET IT AWAY!". Not that I didn't think about it.
Now, my brother and I did have these cool bath toys that my relatives from Germany brought us. They were little boys that were standing up holding their you-know-whats. When you filled them with water and squeezed them, they would send shoots of pee at one another. When you're a kid, that really is one of the funniest things ever. I'm sure my mother got tired of us. We tended not to care where the water streams actually went.
It's amazing how easily amused you are as a child. Then again, being totally honest, if I had one of those peeing boy dolls, I'd probably still think it was one of the funniest things ever.
Yet aside from the peeing dolls, I just never really understood what to do with them. The dolls were never forced on me; I actually used to ask for them for Christmas. Then when I got them, I would change their clothes and bath them and then...that was it. There were times when I'd beg to take my dolls in their pushchair or pram up the road to the shops with us when my mother would go. She'd sigh and let me knowing full well that she'd get stuck pushing the dolls pram/pushchair home because I'd be bored of it. My mother was very good to me and let me do it anyway.
Truthfully, all I ever really wanted to do was curl up with a book when I could. I was an active little kid, enrolled in all kinds of activities like ballet, brownies, gymnastics and country-dancing. Yet I still managed to be an avid reader, pulling out a book whenever there was a lull in the world around me. I could escape into the books, become part of the world, feverishly tearing through each word to get to the next.
Nowadays, I still like to do that. It's just harder. My fellow writer, Samantha Elliot, wrote a blog last week called "Embracing How I used to Be" in which she, too wondered why it was harder to find time to read, how her priorities had changed over time.
Truth be told, I wonder that too, sometimes. To escape into a book these days is more of a luxury than a necessity, the way it seemed to be back then. I find time but there's always something else to do, something that calls louder. I have more responsibilities, more awareness of the fact that while I want to be reading, there are other things I have to do. Yet, when I look at it, do I really have to do them? Can't I just say "phooey on it!" and read anyway?
I can. Occasionally, I do. Sometimes the appeal of a book is so strong, it allows me to ignore the world around me for a while. Sometimes, when life gets too stressful, the pull of a book allows me to escape and ignore life for a while and, for the most part, I emerge from my reading session feeling better, realizing that nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Sometimes it takes a visit to another world, another person's life to realize that the black cloud of stress and anxiety is really just a series of small events and if I take each one at a time, I'll look back and wonder what I was so worried about when it's all passed.
Truth be told, I wonder that too, sometimes. To escape into a book these days is more of a luxury than a necessity, the way it seemed to be back then. I find time but there's always something else to do, something that calls louder. I have more responsibilities, more awareness of the fact that while I want to be reading, there are other things I have to do. Yet, when I look at it, do I really have to do them? Can't I just say "phooey on it!" and read anyway?
I can. Occasionally, I do. Sometimes the appeal of a book is so strong, it allows me to ignore the world around me for a while. Sometimes, when life gets too stressful, the pull of a book allows me to escape and ignore life for a while and, for the most part, I emerge from my reading session feeling better, realizing that nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Sometimes it takes a visit to another world, another person's life to realize that the black cloud of stress and anxiety is really just a series of small events and if I take each one at a time, I'll look back and wonder what I was so worried about when it's all passed.
Yet it doesn't stop me from looking back and wishing I was nine again somedays. Give me a Cherry Coke and an Enid Blyton book and I'd be perfectly happy. I might even attempt to play with dolls again. You never know, maybe I'd like them this time.
Though I doubt it.
Though I doubt it.
Happy Wednesday.
1 comment:
I had dolls for a while, but I was big into "playing pretend". I would pretend to be anything and everything, from a Nancy Drew-esque detective (to the point that I actually followed people on my bike and snuck into abandoned buildings to see if I'd just see a carpet or a body wrapped in a carpet dumped inside) to a Power Ranger (pink, of course).
I think my love of playing pretend and acting fueled me to me a write more than the fact that I read like I was trying to get through every book before I was 20. Then again, maybe the two things weren't mutually exclusive.
Either way, I'll echo the sentiments of my wise blog readers: it's never too late! Go forth and use dolls to pee on random stuff again...or maybe just pick up one of those Enid Blyton books. They might still have something to teach you. :)
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