Oh, fifth and sixth grade. I was the girl who put milk in her salad, talked to herself, and paced the playground all alone with a clipboard, making line graphs of YouTube view statistics for a band that I’d made up in my own bursting mind. And actually, I didn’t even like outdoor recess like all the normal kids. I liked indoor recess so I could have unlimited loose leaf, pencils, and a whole work space for my writing and universe-creating. I was the girl who would break into spontaneous song and dance, the girl who cried all the time, the girl who lagged behind in gym class. I was the poet, the one who saw the world through rosy glasses.
And, like in the picture, I loved winter. I loved spring. I loved fall and summer. In fact, there were few things I didn’t love.
Have I really changed all that much? (Except for the milk in the salad. I don’t do that anymore.)