9.12.01

When I was in grade school, we always seemed to live in some interminably weird rural area that involved a long, circuitous bus trip to and from school.

When we lived on Shady Lane (yeah, the real name of the street), at some point during 5th or 6th grade, I managed to be fortunate to always be the last one on the bus, and the first one off. Some of the other poor kids had to sit in the back of the big yellow bus for almost an hour to get home each day.

However, during two weeks of the academic year, there were some sort of inservice days that we still had to go to school for, but didn't involve any actual class work.

During those two special weeks of the year, for some perverse reason I will never understand, they reversed the bus route, and I ended up being the first kid on the bus, and the last kid off.

Sometimes I'd bring snacks with me to munch on while I waited to be dropped off, and one time I had this really delicious orange that was so sweet and delicious that I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And then a half-hour-or-so more of jiggly bus riding made me have second thoughts about how special and wondrous the orange had been, and shortly thereafter I found myself yarfing the damn thing all over the seat and myself and the floor and the seat in front of me...

I didn't speak up because I was so embarassed, despite the fact that I was the last person on the bus besides the driver.

A couple of minutes later, she pulled the bus over to the side of the road, and asked if I'd had an accident. I nodded uncomfortably, and she came back with her little brown box of stinky blue-green sawdust, and told me it'd be okay.

I didn't die or anything, but I was extremely uncomfortable trudging a half-mile up the steep lane to our trailer, wearing vomit-soaked corduroy pants, spattered with bedraggled orange bits.

Yesterday & Tomorrow.

COMMENTS:

--- Message (#73) to Bottle Of Smoke at 22:38 ---
I've decided to tell gross out stories this week.

 

*** Message (#74) from Bottle Of Smoke at 22:38 ***
*grin*

Can't wait.

Your page is my homepage, y'know.

 

--- Message (#75) to Bottle Of Smoke at 22:39 ---

Aw!

 

*** Message (#76) from Bottle Of Smoke at 22:39 ***

Yup.

Flattery be thine.

AND

*** Message (#2) from Zac at 00:13 ***
Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I read your journal for yesterday, and found it incredibly profound and thought provoking.

Thank you.

 

--- Message (#3) to Zac at 00:14 ---
Thank you as well.

I didn't know how to share my distress except to share my day.

And for the rest of the week, I will be sharing gross-out stories.

 

*** Message (#4) from Zac at 00:15 ***
You are an amazing writer with a gift for expression in a way most don't see things. I"ve fancied myself a writer at times in my life, and I have an appreciation for the way you can look at things and make me think. *nods*

Just thought you should know.

 

--- Message (#5) to Zac at 00:15 ---
Thank you very much.

I try to be as honest as I can without hurting people.

 

*** Message (#6) from Zac at 00:16 ***
You are quite welcome.

Your honesty is refreshing.

 

--- Message (#7) to Zac at 00:17 ---
Sometimes it is a lot easier for me to express myself in the written word because you as a reader can't see me getting choked up, crying, the words getting stuck in my throat. I can still type or write with tears streaming down my face, able to get out what it is I need to share.

 

*** Message (#9) from Zac at 00:18 ***
I, too, often find that writing is the only way I can express myself. I'm an incredibly emotional person who finds it hard to keep composure... people often think it's because I'm cold and callous, or chicken-hearted, that I choose to write to people when I have something emotional to say. I can understand.