OKAY. So this is new, and fun, and woah baby am I excited to see where this blog takes us. My name is Abigail Marie, and I do things like bake bread and dress my cats in baby clothes and get way more hyper than any twenty-one year old should when I eat too much sugar. Nice to meet you.
So I was driving home to Ft. Wayne last night, and as I got off my exit I passed the shopping center that’s close to my house. And right there in the middle of the parking lot was a brand-new conjoined Dairy Queen and Cap n’ Cork Liquor store that wasn’t there a week ago. It was built, in the middle of winter, in literally less than seven days. So, the next time I want a blizzard and a beer I guess I only have to drive one minute to get them, rather than the FIVE MINUTES it would have taken before. This. Is. Ridiculous. The more they build up that area, the more I can see it from my house. I guess what bothers me the most, is that my backyard used to be all fireflies and stars, and now it’s walkforfiveminutesthroughtthecornfieldandyou’reatWal-Marthaveaniceday.
So what I’m trying to say is this: Wal-Mart sucks. But also: this is why I write. The lights of change are burning holes in my brain, and if I don’t write about those nights spent in dark, peaceful bliss before the Behemoths of all parking lot lights took over the night sky, they will die. Sure, I could just leave these memories tucked in, sleeping between the grooves of my brain, but listen to this: I once left a baked potato in the oven overnight because I forgot it was in there. I leave my wallet at the grocery store at least once a month. I forget shit, important shit, ALL THE TIME. I don’t trust myself to just remember stories and memories. And dammit, everything’s changing so fast I can’t even keep up with it.
In five years when the whole world is different, I want to look back and know that at least one thing is still the same– my voice spilled on a page, my brain splattered with ink, my thoughts stamped in bold letters: THIS IS NECCESARY AND GOOD AND RIGHT AND NO CORPORATION CAN TAKE THIS FROM ME. Right there. It’s just that. Your parents lie to you, and your boyfriend cheats on you, and the gas companies eat the flesh from your bones, but there is truth in your own memories and experiences. We can be told how to dress or how to walk or lied to, or stolen from, but we cannot be told what we have or haven’t been through. So there it is. I write so I can take control of my mind, grab my past by its neck and slap its face into cooperation. This is a thing only I can do. This is a thing I need to do. This is a thing I want to do. You try too.