'Something in me will die if I don't' (#tbt)

Hey remember when I shared all those old journal entries with you pretty regularly and we all laughed at me and had so much fun but then I just kind of stopped for no real reason and with no explanation?

Wanna pick back up?

Of course you do!

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Wed. April 9, 1997 (5:53 p.m.) (Almost 16 years old)

Courtney left about 10 minutes ago.  I'm going to miss her, but I'm so jealous!  Every time I think of going to visit her in Italy next summer, my stomach knots up.  I'm so afraid I won't be able to go!  I've got to!  I need to see new things!  (Editor's note: Didn't go that summer.  Went in winter of 1998 and it was awesome.)

She came in on Tues. the 25th of March.  Spring Break was the week after that, last week.  We went shopping a lot!  Easter was the Sunday before last.  I wore a purple polyester pant suit.  say that 3 times fast!  (Editor's note No. 2: I loved that pastel suit so very much.  I have since changed my mind.)  Anyway, the first day of break we went to the mall.  (One of my favorite songs is on - Colin Ray, I'm on the Verge.  It's great!) On Tuesday she took me to get my hair trimmed.  Then she went to the tanning bed while I watched Christian.  On Wed. we went to Carnival shoe store.  On Thursday we went to Bacon's.  

Well, I got my schedule filled out.  I got on the annual staff, adn I'm in chorus for both semesters.  At first Mrs. Jones told me there wasn't room for me.  I was upset.  I cried a lot.  The next day though I went up to her and said "How come there isn't room for me when everybody else that's been in chorus before is automatically in it the next year?"  She didn't know what I was talking about, but she finally understood me.  she told me that I was right & she signed my schedule.  I was terrified about going to talk to her, but it was something I had to do.  I'm proud of myself!  It was the first time I had really stood up for myself.  It showed that I could do it.  

My other classes are Anatomy & Physiology, Pre-cal, U.S. History & English III.

Stole this photo from someone's facebook
page. Had crimped hair.  Adored my crimped hair.

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Sun. June 8, 1997 (9:03 p.m.)  (Almost 16!)

I don't think I remember what a cloudless, blue sky looks like.  I don't remember what it's like to go outside and feel a warm breeze rustling my hair.  It's been raining for 18 days, Granny says, but it feels more like 18 weeks.  I don't know if I can survive much more of this.  I haven't been able to do any gardening.  I need to weed.  I'm selling vegetables for money this summer.  It's for my "vacation in Italy" fund.  I have like $114, but I have to get my cat spaid.  I can't wait until I start getting money.  I need guarantee that I'll actually go to Italy.  Something in me will die if I don't.  Maybe that's being dramatic, but I know that it's true.  I keep thinking about where I want to go to college.  There's so much out there, so many different cities, just waiting for me to come and find their true meaning.  Does that make sense?  Oh well, it doesn't matter.  I cut my hair.  It's about an inch below my ear.  Mom & Dad really like it.  I guess everybody else does.

I often find myself feeling for my pulse.  It's like I have to check to see if I'm still breathing, if I'm still alive.  That's a sad thought.

I think the reason I want to go to college so bad is that I won't know most of the people there.  More importantly, though, they won't know me.  I can be different, but the same.  I can experience things.  People won't see me as that girl that's okay, but not really cool.  I want people to respect me, to look up to me.  I still want to be famous.  I want to be an actress really bad.  I don't know how to do that, though.  Dad won't pay anything for me if I go to college in San Francisco.  Maybe I'll get a scholarship.  Maybe.  I'd like to go to New York too.  There's so much out there.  I don't want to end up in Flaherty.  This not where I want to grow old and die.

(The rest of the journal entries are on this page "Jaime's embarrassing journal entries about boys she loved and also how much she wanted to get her period"

This one takes a turn for the depressing

Happy March, everyone!

I, for one, am extremely thrilled to enter the time of short sleeves and planting seeds and maybe, just maybe, sweating because it's warm outside, not because I've put too many wool scarves on to protect my delicate ears from the cold.

To celebrate, let's read more of my journal entries, shall we?

Here's the first.  The second.  The third.  And the fourth.

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12/19/98 2:47 p.m. (17 years old)

I am in Chicago.  I'm going to ITALY!  I left Louisville around 10:30 this morning.  I got to Chicago around 12:00.  I've been here that long.  Uncle Bill was supposed to come &see me around 1 or 1:30 (I think their time) but I haven't seen him.  (Present Jaime says that's cause I was at the wrong place.)  I love the fact that I'm by myself.  I'm sitting in (at?) Terminal 1.  A while ago I was sitting by this woman who was balling her eyes out & talking on the phone.  After a while she asked me the time.  I told her & then I asked her if there was anything I could do for her.  She said that she had lost her son.  He's in the Air Force College in Denver & was supposed to be here at 2:30 in the morning.  He still isn't here.  I felt so bad for her.  She is so upset.  Her ex-husband is a wus.  He is giving her no support whatsoever.  She asked him to have her son paged & he wouldn't do it.  Then she said "I know it's a lot to ask, but could you please give me a hug?"  He just patted her shoulder & said something like "You gotta be strong" or "Pull yourself together."  I've been praying for her ever since I heard.  I'm not very good at praying.  I left, though.  I felt obligated to sit there.  At one point I was sitting between her & her ex-husband & they were talking.  It was strange.  I told her that I hoped everything worked out for her & that her son was probably on his way here now.  I never know what to say to people.  I think what I said was pretty stupid.  It meant nothing.  I don't know if her son's on his way here or not.  It was just stupid, insignificant crap.  I hope it helped her somewhat.  I hope her son's okay.


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You know, I still wonder what ever happened.

Uh, so nobody’s going to tell my mom this story, right?

When I was 17 I saw a naked cowboy in Italy.

Let me back up.

My sister, who at the time was married to a guy in the air force who was stationed in Italy, let me come visit over Christmas break of my senior year in high school.

I was beyond thrilled.  I’ve always had a strong yearning to see as much of the world as I could, though of late that hasn’t really been satisfied.  But this trip was my first big trip and my first time flying, my first time flying by myself, and especially my first time flying by myself to a foreign country.

Heaven, is what I’m saying.

That experience, in and of itself, is another story that I will share sometime.

But for now let’s focus on the cowboys.

My sister had made friends with a group of people who were country.  So country.  They were all soldiers or married to soldiers and they all seemed to wear cowboy hats.  Now I’m not saying that they were all cowboys, but they sure did seem to enjoy the attire. 

And the dancing.

I’ve never seen so many guys willing to dance and actually enjoying it and doing it well.  I learned how to two-step and line dance at country night on base. 

I also learned about butter shots.  Nasty, syrupy-sweet butter shots.

At the time I thought they were awesome.  I have since changed my opinion.  In case you are lucky and have never heard of them, they’re a shot comprised of butterscotch schnapps and Bailey’s or Kahlua.  Now, I’m okay with Bailey’s.  It’s just you add to it a schnapps made to taste like butterscotch and it makes something so sweet and disgusting that it lands with a thud in the bottom of your stomach. 

But at the time I thought I was super-cool and adult for drinking them.

So one night me, my sister, and a bunch of cowboys and a cowgirl or two were gathered around a table where alcohol was being consumed.  I believe we were playing quarters.   (Actually, I totally just looked this up in my journal and yep – quarters.  Apparently I wasn’t that good at it.)

When I’m in situations that are uncomfortable I tend to stand apart, on the outside and just watch what happens.  And that’s how this started.  I think I made everyone nervous, especially one particular man in a black cowboy hat I was crushing on, by not being into the party.  I didn’t really know them, though and I was shy and wasn’t really a big drinker. 

But finally I rallied (I guess?) and sat down to play.  At some point (the details are a little fuzzy and not so much from the wine but from the fact that this was 13 years ago and I wasn’t a good, detail-oriented journaler) the game of quarters dissolved into a game of truth or dare.

Because of course.

So this guy in the black cowboy hat was dared to run to the mailbox outside wearing nothing but his hat and cowboy boots.

I averted my eyes as he ran outside because I was innocent and virginal and also ridiculously embarrassed.  I mean it was a MAN.  A NAKED MAN. 

(I was a late bloomer.)

I think everyone sensed my discomfort through their quarters-addled brains, which only added to their fun.  So after the cowboy got through running outside to the mailbox he came back inside and found me and started chasing after me.  I ran around the house until I found the bathroom and locked myself inside. 

Everyone was laughing, myself included, because the whole situation was hysterically ridiculous.  But I refused to come out until he’d put his clothes back on.

Guess where those clothes were?

Yup.  In the bathroom.  With me.

So I had to open the door to give him his clothes back so he could get dressed.  And, according to my journal, after that “he kept talking to me about what kind of life he wanted & the things he’d done.”  Also, “he skydives.”

I think we made a real connection, you know?

(Somewhere somebody has all of this on video.  I’d actually really like to see it.)

Has nothing to do with this story, but it's the only photo I could find downstairs
of my trip to Italy.  The rest of them are upstairs in my daughter's closet and
she's taking a nap.  Isn't it pretty?