While I usually tend to avoid posting about my uterine state (hah), tonight I'm in the antsy, histrionic, slightly nauseous, lonely, overly emotional state that usually accompanies a certain time of the month that, according to my row of little pink pills, is not supposed to grace us with its presence for another week and a half.

I almost started crying watching the kids who didn't make the final 32 on Canadian Idol. (Almost. I have raging hormones, I didn't turn into a dumbass.)

Last time this happened, a couple of months ago, I was spotting for two weeks.

Anyway, last night I read Sarah B's lovely birthday post and I got to thinking about a letter I wrote to myself at age thirteen to be opened by my twenty-three-year-old self, inspired by Emily of New Moon.* It's only a couple of years until I'm actually entitled to open it.

I tried to remember what I'd put it in it. All I remember distinctly is mentioning bands I liked (at that point: Alanis Morissette**, The Presidents of the United States of America, which dates me pretty exactly). Also, kissing it. (Like my twenty-three-year-old self would want to kiss the letter, as if to kiss her younger self by proxy? I don't know. My thirteen-year-old self was retarded. She went home every night and wrote terrible bitter poetry in her diary and vented about what big jerks all the people at her school were. I also remember wearing plaid flannel pyjama pants to school. Dark days.)

I don't know what I did with it. I'll have to look for it next time I go home. I've still got a couple years.


*I have read every single one of Lucy Maud Montgomery's novels, and I liked Emily way more than Anne. I reread Emily of New Moon and especially Emily Climbs

**I remember having passionate battles with my parents, who wouldn't let me buy Jagged Little Pill because of the explicit lyrics. I think it was the "go down on you in a theatre" part they objected to specifically. It was so unfair. All my friends had it.