Identity Crisis.

So there we were, sitting at our usual table in the lunch room. I sat there for four years. The table closest to the door. We had a courtyard, but we couldn't smoke there. If we wanted to smoke, we had to get past security[which wasn't super difficult] and hide in the softball dugouts. I remember the way we all dressed and it makes me smile...hoodies with holes in the sleeves that we'd cut for our thumbs, black shirts, jeans that were ripped up and dragged on the floor...now that I think about it, not much has changed as far as my style goes, which is sad in itself. Piercings and dyed hair were huge. Stoners. It's so funny how that is an identity. It was my identity. And after I put all of that behind me, it took a long time to figure out my own values; to hear my own personal voice. In those days, we'd walk around like we owned the school. We owned it, because we weren't a part of it. Oh wow. I haven't thought about that stuff in a while I guess...it's been filed away in the "perspective I never want to return to" catagory of memories. It does make me happy thinking about how ridiculous and wonderful those days were in their own way though..
j.leigh