My story

I have no idea why, but I've had a lot of trouble writing lately. It's something I've always done and have always taken refuge in. Anytime I've tried to write in the recent past, though, my thoughts just don't come together. There are tons of things on my mind and there are plenty of times that something crosses my mind and I think, I should jot that down and write about it later... but it either never happens or when I try I can't get my thoughts organized. So, I've decided to take a little different slant on the whole blogging deal. I've wanted to write about my life for a long time... all the things that have shaped me, my triumphs, my mess-ups, the stuff that has made me... well, me (up to this point, at least). I'm not conceited enough to think that anybody out there will be particularly fascinated with my life and I'm certainly not interested in "talking myself up"... it's just something I want to do.

So, all that being said... read it if you want, or don't. Be interested, or don't be. I do plan on being as brutally honest about myself as I can without invading my own privacy or making other people uncomfortable. If you have been in my life in any capacity, you may just find yourself here. Other than these vague things, I've set no ground rules. So, if you choose to go with me, enjoy the ride... if not, seeya later, alligator.

Installment Numero Uno

I was born on a Friday. October 18, 1985 at the Medical Center in Bowling Green. I don't remember the particulars, but I think I was somewhere around the same size my own son was when he was born and that I arrived around the time Sesame Street came on when I was little. This is how my mom explained it to me... 5 PM in the adult-time-telling world. From the pictures I've seen, I was little and wrinkly and red and the doc held me by my feet. I had my mama and my daddy and one big sister, Stacy, who is nearly 15 years older than me. I've been told that I was brought home to a small farmhouse in the middle of a couple of corn fields in the Richpond vicinity. My folks rented this house from Jason Young, who continues to farm land in Richpond. We moved from that house before I turned 1 year old, I believe... and I have no recollection of it whatsoever.

My family moved from there to the place that would become home to me. This house sits on land that has been in my family for many years and is situated just up the road from my grandparents' house. At least one field separates that house from its 3 nearest neighbors and the view from the back porch is nothing but farmland. This scene is one that I hope I'll never forget... woods to the west, pond straight ahead, and nothing but pasture beyond that. The prettiest sight in the world.

The house itself is small and old, its original structure consisting only of the present-day den, master bedroom, and part of the kitchen. That part of the house is over 100 years old and still has the original barn wood walls beneath the drywall that covers it now. It was in a constant state of renovation throughout my entire life (and apparently many years before my life) until sometime soon after I graduated from high school. The rest of the kitchen was added before my lifetime as was the master bath and possibly a second bedroom. What was a long front porch was also closed in to make a third (and very narrow) bedroom. After my family moved in, they added a small bathroom to my sister bedroom (the 2nd one). The narrow room was mine, as you might have guessed, although I used it for little else than playing. When my sister went off to college, I got her room and we completely re-did it from the floor up and the walls out when I was 12.

Throughout the years, they updated the master bedroom (and slept in the living room floor on air mattresses for an entire summer), closing in 2 unnecessary doors, taking out a closet, somehow chopping through a wall to make what used to be my room an office and walk-in closet. They also tore up the carpet to expose the original hardwood and tore off some old wallboard or paneling to reveal the backside of the beautiful old chimney, which remains part of the decor of that room.

Later, they re-vamped the kitchen, removing the old blue cabinets and replacing them with hardwood, tearing up the old repetitive pentagonal (I think) linoleum and replacing it with something much nicer, and adding a utility room and patio in the back. All of this was attended to by a random builder my parents found somehow whose name was Rob Woodard, I believe. And some part of it involved a whole being cut in our kitchen floor (maybe for running pipelines or something), and Rob being in that hole laying flat on his back looking up... sorda coffin-like. Too weird. Anyway, he was at our house A LOT and we all got really comfortable with him being there... and there's really no telling what he saw and heard.

The biggest project, though, was the den. The floor slanted badly (which made the room impossible for dancing, according to my grandmother). The walls were covered in horrible brown paneling, and there were 5... count 'em 5... doors in the room. Granted, the aforementioned unnecessary doors accounted for 2 of them and they were nicely sealed up from the other side, but there were still these random doors that couldn't be opened in our den. So we ripped off the paneling, wallboard, wallpaper, pasteboard, NEWSPAPER, and I can't even remember what all and finally got down to those original barn wood walls I mentioned earlier. It had to add a good inch to the room. They ripped up the floor and somehow built up the joists or something to even things up. Then we drywalled, put up the finishing woodwork, carpeted, and the whole shebang. This whole process happened in 2 different instances somehow, but a big part of it involved our living room being sealed off from the rest of the house with plastic in some attempt to keep dust out of everything and ALL of the living room furniture being in the kitchen INCLUDING the piano. It was insane to say the least. All of this fun was attended to by the Hunton gang... including Mr. Johnathan, who was then most definitely a Mexican and is now most definitely Guatemalan. Either way, he speaks Spanish.

All of this adds up to the house that it is now, which is no longer my home, but still I place I dearly love.

So there's a bit about the house I grew up in... which I think is plenty for the first part. Especially considering it's 1:30 in the morning... ugh, horrible habit I've gotten into.