onlyemma's Diaryland Diary

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To be 9 again.

No, no, no NO!

How on earth can it be past 3 o clock already? And I have done nothing with my day; absolutely nothing; not a scrap of anything; I haven�t even left my room or eaten. I finally got round to doing my hair though.

It�s funny how strange things jog your memory, isn't it? Today's jog down memory lane began bizarrely; because I have such a thick fringe, I have to straighten it in layers so I just tied the bulk of it up into a tuft on top of my head while I straightened the first layer and as I looked at myself in the mirror I suddenly felt so sad, in a self-pitying kind of way.

I know I looked a bit stupid (not that anyone was looking), but it reminded me of what a sad case I used to be, from the age of about 9 to 16 and it was like looking at myself back then.

Okay, so I should probably tell you why this image was so horrific.

When I was 9 I cut my fringe with the big, red kitchen scissors because I thought it was too long. It ended up short and spiky like Frankenstein�s fringe - it was so short I couldn�t do a thing with it. So, because I saw this as the only option, I bought a massive pot of bright blue gell and gelled most of my fringe back so it was slicked to the top of my head, with only a short wisp of a fringe at my forehead (which was too spiky to gel up). As you can imagine, I looked absolutely terrible. I used to go through pots and pots of gel a week, and once I demonstrated a headstand to my class in PE and left a very watery, gelly mark on the PE mat, which everyone noticed.

However to make things worse, months passed and even when my fringe started growing back and beginning to make me look like a normal person again, I, of course, had to jeopardize my 9-year-old looks once more by not bloody leaving it alone. I tied my fringe up at the front of my head with a scrunchie.

(Sometimes I can't believe the person I used to be)

I have a photo of me at my Nanna and Grandad�s house, in the garden, looking pretty darn pleased with myself, sporting a white scrunchie just above my forehead and a tuft of hair sticking out of the top. Why did my mother not tell me I looked so ridiculous? I have never quite forgiven her for not slapping me round the face and telling me to pull myself together. I flaunted this unique look for a further few months - probably until the garish, fluorescent coloured, padded headbands came in, which was an accessory I embraced with vigor no matter if it matched my outfit or (as was usually the case) not.

But anyway, that is my sorry tale, and that is the reason I felt so sorry for myself when I looked in the mirror and realised that I was staring at my 9 year old self again, with all the horror of hindsight. And I know everyone goes through their embarrassing patches of childhood, but come on, mine did last 7 years.

However, it is strange how it never really bothered me as much as it should�ve done; the only time I remember being slightly concerned was when no boy wanted to kiss me in the playground when we played Kissy Cats, even when I wasn�t running very fast.

4:18 p.m. - 2006-04-23

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