Preservatives

*Quick note: I wrote this post yesterday, but Blogger wouldn't post it. Cross your fingers for luck today.
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One of my sister's friends turned seventeen today, and we were one of the few people who celebrated with her. It got me thinking. About the people I call my friends and the things I value most... And I wondered if two people called me on my birthday, could be as cool with it as she was. If I'm spoiled because, when I turn eighteen, I want everybody and their mama's dialing me up to wish me a happy 1-8.

I realized that I'm not rude or vain or silly or selfish for wanting to be remembered. I'm just... me.

See, I've been this way since I was little. I hung out with my teachers before my peers. To this day, even my first grade teacher remembers me by name. I liked to leave pieces of me behind at my schools. Before I graduated, I stuck a letter under a desk in my Creative Writing class, and am waiting for some curious sould to find it and reply back to me. I think I have a severe case of Memoritis--- a regenerative disease that makes you stronger by keeping you in the lives of others longer.

I want to be remembered. I can't help it. I think that was why I was always fascinated with books. They'd sit on my shelf but every time I opened them, I was plunged back into that world that, if created correctly, stays fresh and preserved, waiting for me to come back to it. Today, I'm writing my own story. It starts with me, now, and, hopefully, will never end.

Adios, Peeps,
Deserae McGlothen

I Forgot to Remember

Agh!

Have you ever been involved in so much at once where you forget to remember the REALLY important stuff?

I forgot something EXTREMELY important, Loves.

Eh. And double eh.

-Deserae McGlothen