Mismatched Mess

of life, love, fashion, & forgetting to update


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New Home | Writing Day 11

12 tears old. A time of energy, growth and happiness. The previous age–11–was the exact opposite. New school, new home, no friends. At 11 I remember arriving early to school and not knowing where to go. Every single day. I remember science class, my new teacher turning to the news on September 11th, 2001 and watching my new classmates cry. I remember rushing to the computer after school, trying to find more information about the twin towers. 11 was a year of fear. 11 was a year of silence. 11 was the year my math teacher told me I was terrible.

But at 12, things were looking up.

I finally found friends. I was involved in clubs and projects and had settled into a new house. We didn’t stay there long.  We moved again soon after. But, like with all childhood memories, some moments stick out.

I remember sharing a room with all of my siblings. But I don’t remember it bothering me. My fondest memory is standing in front of the mirror in that room, with the fan blowing my hair and singing ‘I Could Not Ask For More’ into a hairbrush. I didn’t even like country music.

I remember discovering Hot Cheetos. I could eat bags of them. I’d get in trouble for doing that. I still pride myself on my love of spicy foods and sauces.

I remember one room in the house that was ‘under construction’ the entire time. The floors were original wood. So original that the floor still had a faint red pattern in the shape of a rug. It was painted there long ago. That was to be my room when it was finished. It never was. I didn’t complain.

I remember having a trampoline in the back yard. That was fun. But then I remember the time we were warned that it wasn’t a safe neighborhood. It became less fun after that.

I remember the dogwood tree in the front yard. We rarely went to the front yard. But in the springtime, it was beautiful.

I remember getting my first hair cut at 12. I remember going to the mall…not the mall in town with two stores and a Blue Cross in it; the mall in the ‘big’ city. I bought $300 worth of clothes and felt so guilty. I tried not to ever do that again. I kept those clothes separate from all my other ones. Neatly folded in a large shopping bag right by my bed.

At 12 I remember having late night adventures with friends. I remember the internet really started making sense. (I remember Neopets). I remember I was in enough advanced English and History clubs and school projects that I could get out of math class. I skipped most of math class actually. My new math teacher–the one who might have helped me enjoy math at 11 (before I had given up because I was “terrible”)–was too nice to fail me.

I remember packing up and moving away. I don’t remember protesting. I don’t remember being sad about leaving my new found friends. I just remember starting over at 13; new town, new house, no friends. But I was less silent and more ready this time around.


Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old? Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences.

I know I’m showing my age with this post and I know it’s most likely considered ‘young!’: 9/11, the brand new snack Hot Cheetos, the Internet had chat rooms and games….

Oh and in other news: don’t be a jerk to kids. That shapes their future. I tried really hard at math, but still struggled and that teacher basically gave me an excuse to just give up completely.


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To Live Forever

MAGICMOONLIGHTSTUDIO57

“In every letter, in every line, she saw him. He hadn’t changed – he’d only grown into the man he’d meant to be.”

Diana Peterfreund, For Darkness Shows the Stars

“To my dearest….”

I read the faded script, ink dried on the page years ago, paper soft with age. Tucked between a loose brick on the bottom of the wall and a piece of driftwood, the letter seemed to have called for me to read its words.

My mind wanders through possibilities. Was the letter ever read? Was it laid here on purpose so many years ago? A secret hiding place between young lovers, a place to share their affection without being caught.

Did this letter fall from someone’s belongings? Perhaps the belongings of a mourning family, as they walked along this same pathway. Their husband, mother, brother…this letter a keepsake to that person, who kept it all these years.

I fold the yellowed page and return it to its envelope. Filled with possibilities and nostalgia, I daydream about the owner, wishing I could return it to its rightful place.

Part of me connects so deeply, I can’t even explain. I’m reminded of rifling through my grandparent’s memories. I’m reminded of reading the notes my parents wrote to each other. I’m reminded of the hundreds of small notes my husband and I wrote when we were younger.

I slip the letter in my purse, but thinking about it, I return it to its spot. Perhaps the letter will never be read again. Perhaps I was its first reader. There’s something beautiful about the mystery. That the words were even written at all provided a cathartic sense of love and purpose to the writer.

Beyond that, the story is unknown. But the writer’s appreciation for this mystery person will live on forever through his words. For what better way to live forever than by proof of deeds done from love?


This was part of the Writing 101’s Blogging University. Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter. Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.


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Writing 101: Day One

Writing 101

Blogging 101: Unlock the mind.

I’m beginning a basic blogging class for the month of April. The first assignment is to write a stream of thoughts for 20 minutes straight without thinking too hard or trying to really make sense. Let’s do this.

I thought this exercise was quite interesting. I struggle so much with what to say and how to say it while writing blogs. I can never seem to formulate ANY topic, or thought. I end up posting really dull, lifeless and vague posts coupled with many, many photos. Which is fine for what it is…but I really want to do more. I want to reach into my mind and write about topics that matter to me…truly matter in the world, even. I hope this helps to really unlock my mind.

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I’ve been thinking a lot, recently, about branding myself. I think I have an interesting niche. I’d love to break into creating videos, tweets and general content marketed around that niche style. It’s really intimidating just starting out…I don’t know what my balance should be. I don’t know how to balance the humor with the legitimate adventures Taylor and I have. But week after week I continue getting vague ideas that I feel could really turn into something fun. I struggle with creating content and keeping a schedule, so I’m automatically putting so much pressure on myself to succeed that I’m basically allowing myself to fail. I think the fact that I keep getting ideas is proof enough that I should try to expand on this and see where it takes me. What if the only thing holding me back is my own laziness? This is something I’m incredibly interested in, so what if it actually becomes something? (Entire vague paragraph of vague hints of my idea: check)

I’ve been getting quite a bit of organic blog growth in the past few weeks, which is cool, but at the same time it provides another sense of panic. I wonder why the heck these people are visiting, what content brings them here and how should I expand on that. So many questions go into making a successful blog. The things is though, I really don’t care to have a “successful” blog in the strictest of sense. I don’t care to be monetized or famous. I enjoy being a personal blog, I enjoy posting photos and life adventures. However, I really do have the desire to create MORE…to do MORE. I’m torn between not caring about my blog, letting it be what it is and only posting a couple times a month, and the true desire to use this blogging space to unleash my creativity, humor and my opinion.

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I’ve done this in the past. I’ve focused and grown my content. I experimented with different topics and I’ve taken the time to slowly write down the thoughts and emotions I have with certain topics. I actually enjoy my ‘writing’ voice. I think I can come up with powerful and/or humorous opinions that move me when I re-read them. I love that! I love that I have that ability…but it’s weak. It’s not honed at all, so it’s incredibly difficult to write in that way. I need to strengthen my voice and my vocabulary. It really has proven to be true, the saying, ‘use it or lose it.’ I’ve all but lost my writing skills.

I hope to discover what blogging really means to me with these blogging exercises so that I can focus my energy on things that matter. I think blogging will always be a part of my life no matter what I discover or decide in the coming month, but I hope to really find out if ‘branding’ myself and my blog can actually be something that brings growth, followers and entertainment. If it’s not meant to be, then of course I’ll post as always. This space will always be a place for my personal life, my adventures, and the many photos I take along the way. And I’m absolutely ok with that. I just don’t want to box myself in.