so i have this shoebox.
it's yellowish and from a pair of vans. the shoes, amusingly, were called "pudge" and were a size 4 boys and were smoke suede and were $62 at jc penneys. i bought them on 1-26-97.
i kept the shoebox because it was a decent size and i put stuff in it and labeled it with masking tape:
b@l@v@ge / shoebox o memories.
PRIVATE
1-27-97
then i signed my name in big letter with a blue marker twice on the top of the box. in case anyone was confused.
in the box, i've placed many a random thing. included in my eclectic collection is a picture of liz, leanne, kendra, and i: friends from boarding school. of the four of us, one was kicked out, one left before she got kicked out, and i left by choice. it's a really great picture from when we took a freshmen class trip to monticello. i used to be all cute and skaterish and i'm so proud of that girl for not giving a fuck. enough about the picture because what i really want to talk about is a bunch of pieces of paper given to me in the form of a book entitled:
//
PIECES OF ME
POETRY FOR THE SOUL
BY: CHEYENNE SCHUELE
//
the first page of the booklet reads as follows:
//
TO MORGAN,
I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS BOOK. IT IS SOMETHING I AM VERY PROUD OF. I HOPE YOUR LIFE IS FULL OF JOY AND HAPPINESS. I LOVE YOU! KEEP SMILING!
LOVE ALWAYS,
CHEYENNE.
P.S. ONE QUESTION, DO YOU LIKE FLOWERS?
//
the next 9 pages contain 9 poems by a very troubled, very confused, incredibly amazing thirteen year old. cheyenne is the best, closest friend i have ever had. she is the person who has affected me the most, and one of my biggest regrets is not being her friend anymore.
i'm sure i've talked about this before, but fuck it.
we were only friends through eighth grade. we were the outcasts on the cheerleading squad (yes, i was a cheerleader) and became allies by default. our relationship soon blossomed into a thoroughly intense friendship. before i left for boarding school, she pissed me off because we had plans to do something this one day, but instead she was going to do something with jessica boese and that was the Last Straw. i never talked to her again and i've seen her once since, when i was driving somewhere senior year and she was waiting for the bus.
i always wanted to apologize to her but i was always too scared. i miss her.
anyway, i also have a journal in this box and on the first page is my name, the date (june 18, 1994) and my motto at the time: live it UP or die it OUT.
yeah. i made that up.
um. it's not my motto anymore. mostly because it doesn't make any sense.
my first entry is signed in cursive Morgan B@l@v@ge and underneath my signature i printed my name. uh, in case i got confused.
i will leave you with a poem, written when i was 10:
(ahem)
//
"Dolls"
My dolls are cute,
But some are ugly.
One makes me puke!
It's [sic] name is Pugly*.
//
*i have never owned a doll named pugly and i am a bad poet.
wait, ok, one more thing. from 6th grade:
//
2/2/95
Dear Journal,
It's February! I wonder if we're going to hand out valintines [sic]? No way I'm going to hand one to a boy! Especially one I like! No Way!!!!!!! I wonder if anyone would hand me a valentine?
NAH!!!
No way! Not even close! But, well, maybe . . .
//
see, i've always been deluded and lovesick.
oh my god. i just read the entry in which i nicknamed my journal "jorny."
see, i've always been this lame.