virtual memory box...

The thing is, I've been using the internet (aka The World Wide Web) in some form or another for twelve years. That's a goodly portion of my life. I've spent the formative years of my life living it, then writing about it somewhere in a computer, and keeping a record of some of my days either in the clunky phrase of online journal or the bugsinamber blog, or here. And, as it turns out, in email...

The other day I had this thought that I had not visited one of my many email accounts, a Yahoo! one. It isn't one that I frequently receive mail in, but I do try to remember to log in every so often in an effort to mainain the account, and the storage of two years of correspondence with people in my life.

As I began reading through some of that correspondence, I was surprised at how much I've changed in the last five years or so. My writing has become so much clearer, but much less playful. Even though that was probably the most sad time of my life thus far, I wrote with an amazing sense of play and good naturedness, that covered up my situation. I have since lost that ability to actively hide my angst, both in writing and in life. I suppose it is a better thing that is is clearer, less bogged down by words and attempts at cuteness, but I wonder if that cuteness is what brought the fiction into my words, and that its appeal is bigger than I thought.

Also, I was pleasantly surprised by the discovery of a picture of myself I had sent along as an attachment (which in those days was quite the feat...scanning a physical specimen, making sure it wasn't too big, connecting the dots from your computer to the broswer, and the interface of broswer's back then were not as kind and simplified as they have become). The picture is one of me sitting in a chair that Vince and I found abandoned (or merely resting) in the hallway of the Southport apartment. I can't tell which of our many apartments the photo was taken in, it could have been Lincoln Ave, but it easily could have been Bosworth.

This was back in the day when I put a lot of effort into looking good, and it shows. My hair is dark and slightly purple-y red, an eggplant, perhaps. I used to blow-dry my hair. every. damn. day. My face is clear, bright, a lie. No freckles, the "camera" was a small polaroid piece of junk (the i-zone I think it was called) that simply couldn't pick up too many fine details, so my freckles don't appear at all, which at the time I was thrilled for, I hated having freckles. so. very. much. My eyebrows are perfectly groomed, thanks to frequent waxing sessions. I look at them now and see that they frame my face, they set the standard for the rest of my look. Mostly ungroomed, they sit like caterpillars above my eyes, setting the tone for my wild hair behind them. I am now as natural as I can suppose to be, with a few tweakings now and again.

At the time, I was sensitive about my teeth, nose, face in general. I really believed that it was better if I didn't smile. So I tried not to. I took a lot of pictures with that camera, always trying to attain the perfect picture of me. And nearly all of them have that dour pout of a girl who feels insecure and unattractive. Of course, anyone who knows me now knows that I smile for the hell of it all the time. There is never a time when the thought of my ugly teeth or big nose interferes with my smile.

Then, the most curious thing, something I had forgotten about, is that I am wearing a black top of some undefined sort. At this point in time, I usually only wear black shirts for work, and they are as feminine as possible. I forgot how badly I used to dress then, like a frumpy, dour, unfashionable old lady who just didn't know any better. I suppose how I dress now is not necessarily an improvement, but it's definitely a better reflection of the person inside than all that black and bore was.

It was just stunning to me to look upon this lost relic of my past and realize that my physical self has changed immensely and it reflects all of the ways I have opened up to life, all of the insecurities I've shed, all of the judgments I held are gone. I am simply me, and there's no one else standing in front of you. That makes me very pleased.

stine