Summer Cleaning

Home for my first two work-free weeks of the summer, I decided I should do something more productive than hanging out with my dog. With the confidence of a naively inexperience soldier heading off to the front lines, I tackled the mess that has been growing in my bedroom for roughly 19 years.

I'm not a dirty person. There are no congealing glasses of milk on my windowsills. My problem is that I simply have too much stuff. Opening one of the drawers in my bureau, I found it completely filled with Pokémon figurines. Of course, I just closed it up again—no way I’m getting rid of those. They could be worth money some day, or more importantly, I might be called upon to stop Team Rocket.

I don’t understand how so many happy meal heirlooms are still floating around my room. When I was in seventh grade, an air conditioner cord ignited a pile of paper in my bedroom, effectively reducing all of my Beanie Babies into a melted glob. Really, every preteen should let their past go up in a blaze of glory. Plus all of the other items that made up my junior high existence. Besides the emotional trauma and potential danger, it’s a great way to get rid of unwanted knickknacks in one fell swoop. Who cares if a few priceless childhood memories are incinerated in the process?

So I can’t comprehend why I still have a hammock full of cheerfully neglected stuffed animals in my room to this day. Where were they during the blaze? My policy is that I can only donate them if I forget their names. The problem is that I never forget. I’ll remember Radcliffe the Raccoon until the day I die. So they just watch me smugly with their unblinking eyes, knowing I don’t have the strength to shove them in a garbage bag.

For now, I’m surrounded by piles of junk that used to somehow hold importance in my everyday life. I pulled a hoody with a unicorn rearing across the chest from my closet and had no faint recollection of ever owning it. A Napoleon Dynamite poster, a pirate costume, a vintage suitcase filled with alcohol-themed bandanas. Where did I get these things, and why did I keep them?

So I’m wasting my summer days in my bedroom, wading through the disorganized and illogical waters of my past. Maybe it’ll take another week or so. Then I can start unpacking the bags from my dorm room.

Twas brillig...

Hello, summer project!


So I'm blogging in a semi-professional manner now. As many people know (and many people don't) I've been writing a humor column for over 3 years now. In the beginning, it was called Of Cabbages and Kings. That title always made me uncomfortable, though. Maybe because it makes me think of Cabbage Patch Kids, and for some reason whenever I think about Cabbage Patch Kids I feel horribly uncomfortable. This was a problem Senior Year, when my nickname was briefly (and awfully) Kirbitch the Cabbage Patch Kid. Every time somebody said it, I wanted to cry.

So now I'm working under the title Jabberwocky, which has a lot of specific and well thought out reasons that I won't bore you with.

This is all boring. I'm going to post columns here, and snippets of writing that never materialized into columns, and nude pics. NOTE: One of those examples is a lie. ANOTHER NOTE: "snippets of writing" is the lie.