dear production ceremony diary,
i know what it's all about. it took me long enough to figure it out, true, but once i finally did, i did and that is all that matters at the end of the day. i am honored (really) that people thought enough of me to clue me in as much as they did. clearly, i could have been left out, for the umpteenth time, and that would have pissed me off. rule one. don't follow rules. rule two. don't make rules. rule three. always remember there IS no rule three. i'm serious. remembering the days when a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was the highlight of the whole entire afternoon and morning combined- and even better if frito's came with- and even way better with cheetos in a factory sealed bag- i couldn't imagine being a kid now and the standards being set with juice packs and frozen yogurt sticks. my mom would still rock the lunchroom out- even in my holly hobby lunch pail that to this day smells the exact same way- with, 'Trixie West,' written neatly down the outside in marker- like someone else had one- or would steal it- or maybe i was gunna forget my name. my careful mother- always worried. i wish someone would have written her name on her. maybe we wouldn't have lost her.
i know what it's all about. it took me long enough to figure it out, true, but once i finally did, i did and that is all that matters at the end of the day. i am honored (really) that people thought enough of me to clue me in as much as they did. clearly, i could have been left out, for the umpteenth time, and that would have pissed me off. rule one. don't follow rules. rule two. don't make rules. rule three. always remember there IS no rule three. i'm serious. remembering the days when a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was the highlight of the whole entire afternoon and morning combined- and even better if frito's came with- and even way better with cheetos in a factory sealed bag- i couldn't imagine being a kid now and the standards being set with juice packs and frozen yogurt sticks. my mom would still rock the lunchroom out- even in my holly hobby lunch pail that to this day smells the exact same way- with, 'Trixie West,' written neatly down the outside in marker- like someone else had one- or would steal it- or maybe i was gunna forget my name. my careful mother- always worried. i wish someone would have written her name on her. maybe we wouldn't have lost her.
