Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you need the cootie shot!
And so, much to the conspicuous envy of my neighborhood playmates (I'm talking to you, Amy Bircher) I alone got to be the Pirouetting Jedi Trauma Nurse Assassin when it came time for make believe. This early propensity to polymorphism probably explains my fascination, nay, obsession with Transformers even though they were for boys. Because honestly, Barbies were soo static and boring. And also lacking in light and sound and working joints. But Transformers, well, they could be this:
Or THIS!
♫ More than meets the eye ♪
So when I got a little older I set out for degrees in Geology as well as English Literature. But that was only after I joined the Army. But eventually I did drop the Geology bit when I decided to go to law school. Or graduate school, to be an English Professor. Or a writer. And then promptly decided to drop everything, get pregnant, and become an Environmentally Conscious Stay-At-Home-Mom With An Overdeveloped Sense Of Justice And Excellent Taste In Literature. Who in her younger years looked a lot like this chick:
(I actually got this Barbie as a gift when I graduated Basic Training.)
So when I started this blog I was having one of my angsty/poetic episodes that typically lasts me anywhere from three minutes to three years and frequently provokes me to open a volume of Norton' English Literature,
(HAHA You totally thought I was going to say a bottle of Shiraz. SUCKER!!!!!)
wax melancholic, and revel in the company of dead sad chicks like Sylvia Plath and Hamlet's Ophelia (you know, Hamlet's bipolar girlfriend who falls/jumps from a tree branch and, due to the voluminousness of her inordinately poofy gown, drowns) while re-imagining for them wildly different outcomes. My Ophelia would float, breathe, put on a DVF shirtdress, and use the Force to kick Claudius' ass while tending to Laertes' and Gertrude's medical emergencies. En pointe.
A year and a half into this endeavor, though, methinks this blog channels Ophelia far less than (one of my) alter-ego(s), Alice, of Wonderland fame. Curious, absurd, illogical Alice who imagines six impossible things before breakfast, who is too large for her house and too small for her Queen.
Waverly, 2009
Me, most days
So I'm renaming the blog for a not-so-sad, not-so-dead chick who'd probably not back the family station wagon into a lake, but most certainly would have a corkscrew in her apron for opening the bottle that says "Drink Me."
Anyway,why exactly is a raven like a writing desk?
Curiouser and curiouser....
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