I am still here.

I’ve had a splendid childhood.  However, there are parts that I now have negative associations.  The odd thing is, whenever I think of those parts of my life, I tend to feel like I am thinking about someone else’s memories.  It doesn’t feel like it was me that couldn’t talk properly until she was 12 or danced for 10 years of her life or used to make excellent pottery in her spare time.  This is scan09_03_1130possibly because I can currently talk coherently, can’t dance to save my life, and my last pottery experiment looked like, well, an experiment.  I have changed yet that doesn’t mean that who I was isn’t part of who I am now.
My eager anticipation for everything and anything.  I still get flutters every time I check the mail even if I am expecting absolutely nothing.  You just never know.
My ability to talk to inanimate objects.  Most of the clocks, shower curtains, and lamps in my house have personalities.  They don’t talk back anymore sadly but there is still an aura about them.  For example, the clock in the downstairs bathroom is incredibly lonely while the living room one is quite shy.
My desire to talk in general.  To be quite honest, my estimation of you will go up tenfold if we can hold a decent conversation that moves past weather and school.  I am not completely against small talk but I prefer discussing something that actually has value.  Personal preference.  I will overuse the word conversationalist when describing someone I respect and enjoy.
My inability to stop.  Stop thinking, stop wondering, stop working.  Productivity fuels me.  Complacency stifles me.
My insatiable desire for books.  I may have moved from historical fiction to biographies but I still sneak down to my basement and pick up a few Goldenbind books once in a while.  Nothing but the classics.

So, yes there are things that seem so un-Chloe that I cannot believe that I was the same girl as the one in the picture.  Yet if you look past the straight hair, I am still there.  I am still here.  And I always will be.

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