Hey, how are you doing? My name is Bonnie.
These things can get a little tough for me. I can scribble and scribble yet seem to never get it right. So I decided to come up with something anyways and stick with it before I delete this for the third time. I apologize in advance if I cause you to go blind from reading this.
So who am I? Me, I am a pretty average girl. Maybe, maybe not, it’s really up to you. I’m in my early twenties, with black hair and I’m often the shortest person in – well pretty much everywhere. I usually have my hair tied up in a relatively messy unkempt fashion. I just want to get it out my face. If I could shave my head – I would. It’s just that some of my friends might stare at me funny. And my family tends to judge me. My clothes really could need some help. I don’t shop for clothes, you see, I simply get them second- hand from friends, cousins or aunts. Essentially it’s anyone who’s willing to help me out. It wouldn’t be the first time for someone to tell me that I look like person who wandered out from nuclear fallout. I tend to wear neutral colours, you see. Some browns, greens, beiges…more browns. I don’t really like those form fitting ‘stuff’. I want to be a little free. Having an inch of wiggle room between my toes and behind can be a bit nice. There is a green jacket I have that is worn with holes, tears, chew marks and discolouration. Not really a pretty sight but it’s quite comfy. It’s not dirty – I swear.
Okay, okay. It’s not just my clothing that’s an issue. I am actually held hostage by a quite few PC games. There is an Xbox 360 in the next room that guards the stairwell. It might be one of those voluntary victim situations. Surrounding me is a large number of badly handled books which are likely to be disfigured from being squeezed into bookshelves without being fully closed. I probably like them more than they like me. The graphic novels and comic books are an exception. I must admit that I do treat better. What can I say? Sequential art can be quite pretty, while the other books tend to talk too much.
Speaking of talking too much, have you ever been nagged by your notebook? Today it happened again. I was minding my own business lined up at the bus stop when this terrible hissing sound was coming out from my stitched-up grey bag. I pulled out one whiney notebook.
“It’s been a terrible experience being carried around by you every day. Days, months and years past yet never once do I have the opportunity to feel the physical connection with Bob, the blue pen,” my worn and dejected notebook cried to me this morning. I quickly flipped through its pages eager to rebut against its atrocious claims. It was true that the notebook was sitting in the bottom of my bag for 3 years, yet, I was so certain that I made a few strokes here and there about two or three months ago. It turned out that it was correct, so I scribbled a few words in hopes to satisfy its craving. Of course, the pathetic notebook still continued to weep and lament about how malnourished and lonely it was. As proof it swung out and displayed its juiced stained empty pages for all to see. The expressions of horror from the bystanders were enough to make me slam it back closed tightly between my hands while suppressing one or two questionable words. An inanimate object must never live such a fate, I decided. And in to the nearest recycling bin it went.
Okay, maybe that’s not how it actually happened. However, there really is a dejected looking notebook that stares back up at me day after day. Despite my attempts to fill the book’s empty pages, my hand always seems to end up posing blue pen above it for the entire train ride. If the notebook could talk it would probably say, “Please! Just write anything!”