✍ CURRENTLY WRITING FROM: SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
“Once upon a time, there was a girl born with the biggest eyes anyone could ever see. What they could see, of them, anyway—they were odd, dark things. What people found out later was that they had the ability to hypnotize people. On a lovely day, the girl with the big, dark eyes sat quietly in a park, reading, widening her eyes with interest. A man in black shades walked by, enjoying his perfectly mediocre day, feeling like he quite fit in with the public, and noticed the girl’s eyes. He stopped abruptly and grew terrified, because he didn’t understand the difference in this girl’s appearance. Unfortunately, he chose to not understand, so he grabbed a pen and stabbed the girl’s eyes out. There, he thought, and he walked away, satisfied.”
I find that I write pretty terribly uncomfortable things when I’m upset. I think it’s because I’m just so scared of being stabbed (especially when taking a shower) or having my throat slit.
My parents complain about two things when it comes to me. First, they are bothered about my monotonous voice, and second, they can’t stand my posture. I schlump (is that a word? I’m basing myself off The Princess Diaries here) and I’m always looking down my shoulders just sort of lie there, completely droopy. My dad himself has tried to give me ‘lessons’ on how to walk properly, by giving me demonstrations throwing out phrases like “You just have to imagine that you’re walking on a cloud and there’s this string that’s pulling your chest up to the sky. You have to learn or else you’re never going to be able to wear heels, darling.”
It bothers them so much that sometimes I imagine they lock themselves in their bathroom and cry over how incredibly bad I stand and how this must be the reason why I never bring friends over, and ask themselves where they went wrong?
But after pondering it for a while, I’ve realized that my irrevocable fear of scary movies has lead to my posture. I’m afraid of exposing my neck. When I stretch, I tuck my neck in. When I become hyperaware of my exposed neck, I “schlump” because I’m afraid someone will grab a knife and slide it across my neck, or just choke me, or break my neck.
This is my excuse, I’d say.
Also, I kept a tally mark on the number of times I caught myself leaning over uncomfortably and then straightening out my back: 7 times.