Things Don't Change

For the past few months, my mother has been exorcising me from my childhood home in Austin. Every time we drive up, we drive back with boxes and boxes of stuff. You see, I am the Queen of Crap. I hoard things. I like to save everything. I have a problem throwing things away.

Combine that with two houses and two apartments and 23 years, and that's a lot of crap. The worst part of it is I've been collecting it since infancy. A lot of the stuff I didn't even know I had because I wasn't old enough to remember. So, this weekend, in celebration of Labor Day, my mother made me go through all my baby stuff.

Normally, I could wax on and on about how looking at my baby shoes and tiny outfits made me thing about how far I've come and how different my life is now (it didn't.) I could jabber about it's strange feeling grown and adult (I still eat peanut butter every day.) I could talk about how I look forward to using some of these hand-sewn blankets for my own children (Ten years, people. Ten years. Any ogling relatives--ten years.)

Instead, I realized I haven't changed a single bit. I'm still the same person I was when I was three.

Not only did I discover books I had written about creatures, I discovered I still write about the same topics. Most of the books were about Mr. Bunny, which I illustrated with a tux, but I also had a character named Rolly. I think some of my most profound prose was:

"Rolly is hungry.

'Mr. Bunny, do you have anything to eat?' Rolly said.

'Yes, I do," Mr. Bunny said.

Rolly was very fat. He ate dinner. They lived happily ever after."

I swear, it's all true. I also had such wonderful literary creations as "Mr. Bunny's Song", which stated: "Mr. Bunny made a song. So mi re do. I like you. You're cute."

My other other novels included, "Mr. Bunny!," "Mr. Bunny Goes on a Trip," and "Mrs. Bunny," all written and illustrated by Miranda R. Pike.

I even dedicated a book to the Easter rabbit.

And you wonder why I write about bees that bake pies and GLUGS (Ginormous Lime Green Unusual Gnat.)

It was also a great comfort to know my habits hadn't changed. Apparently, when I was a child I was so busy reading and creating things that I wouldn't go to bed until I literally fell over unconscious. I would beg my poor parents to read the same book to me for hours.

At first, they were delighted.

Then they wised up and created a "storyboard" so I could learn my bed routine. They posted the pictures below on the board and wrote out the steps for me. So for you, my Invisible Friends, I have posted the Internet version up here.



First, I would have a snack.





Then I would pick up my toys.



I would brush my teeth--nude, of course. And with my everlasting pooch in full display!




Then, I would take a bath. With bubbles. Lots of bubbles. I loved bubbles.



I would pick out my favorite music tape to fall asleep to.


Eventually, after begging my parents to read a dozen books to me, I would pass out.



Because even back then,




It was all about me.