Letter To My 10-Year-Old Self

One of my favorite blogs is Mama's Losin' It... and 'Mama' (aka Kathy) offered up a writing workshop prompt this week... to write a letter to your 10-year-old self. So I did...

Dear 10-Year-Old Diane,

First, girl, you need to stop sweating your nose. OK, so it’s not tiny. OK, so the whole stupid family makes fun of it. OK, so you figure if you point it out to everyone first, before they can make fun of it, too, it’ll be like, ‘Ha ha, the joke’s on you, ‘cause I know my nose is big!’ Let me tell you something… no one gives a crap. Your nose isn’t the center of the universe. And you pointing it out only makes people think, ‘Hey, her nose IS sorta big, but I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t said something.’ Moron. Stop it! And for God’s sake, do something about that hair!

Second, you know how you swore after you had to write that report on all the Presidents in one night that you’d NEVER procrastinate again? Well, you need to get on the stick, chick. Procrastination will become a way of life if you let it. It will haunt you and hunt you and you’ll be always looking over your shoulder, just to see if anything you’ve put off has caught up with you yet. And it will! It always does! Sure, you may dodge a bullet every now and then, but some big put-off thing will swallow you whole in the end. Moron! Stop it!

Third, when that slimy little wench, Karen D., does something to make your life miserable (and she SO will), you need to just slap her pointy little face. She is NOT the boss of you or anyone else, damn it. Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve and letting it show every time she hurts your feelings... that's what gives her power! Toughen up and use your big brain to figure out how to put her in her place! If you don’t stand up to her scrawny ass now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

Fourth, remember how cool you were last year, before you moved? Well, darlin’, you’re still that cool, even if you don’t feel it. Find that coolness… look deep… it’s still there. I promise. Don’t wait ‘til you’re like 25 (or 43) to be cool again.

And last, sit Dad down and have a chat. Tell him he’s got to stop smoking now. Tell him you don’t want him to die when you’re pregnant (or ever). Tell him he has to be here to get to know his grandkids because they will need him, too, just like you do now. Tell him. Please.

Love, 43-Year-Old Diane

Oh, and one more thing… chocolate is not your friend. Neither are Twinkies or Oreos or those amazing Tastycake peanut butter thingees… stay away from them all… or one day, your ass alone will weigh more than you do now. Trust me on this one.