Years ago, I found a tabloid that had an article about “the diaries of Anna Nicole Smith.”
(Isn’t it weird how she died and we all forgot about her? What a weird life she had. “Life”… or whatever you want to call it. Her daughter is beautiful, not that it matters.)
I don’t remember what most of her diary entries the magazine published were about. It wasn‘t that titillating. I included one screenshot But the front of the surprisingly (or not) childish looking journal had this cheesy but nonetheless memorable poem on the babydoll pink cover. Seems like it should have belonged to a 7 year old.
The last line was ”When I follow my own star.” So i’m sure you can imagine how a poem that ends like that might begin.
Enjoy your fate! Chase rainbows! Ride Unicorns!
She grew up poor. I can’t knock her for trying.
I copied the poem down in some diary of my own, but I have been unable to unearth the excerpt, much to my dismay. I have piles of writing everywhere.
(If you are able to find the cover of her 1992 diary somewhere on the internet, which features the happy-wishy star poem, I’ll buy you whatever less than 15$ item you want.) So why am I even writing about this? Well, simply because I had to get it out. The phrase “when I follow my own star” has been circling around the drain of my brain for like 5 days now. I look for meaning and symbolism in every detail of life. Hints for my future. I’ll take any make believe mystical guidance life throws at me at this point. Constantly trying to decipher what you mean, what the weird song on the radio means, what I mean, what life means.
I look for signs everywhere. I don’t want anything to mean nothing.
Is following your own star good or bad advice? I haven’t a clue, kids. I’m a 30 year old former gifted kid with an associates degree living with family who likes making up new nicknames for her cat on the daily.
This is my life.
I went to my cousin’s son’s graduation luncheon last weekend. It was fancy, and you could tell that by the fact that it was an Italian restaurant that didn’t serve pizza.
He wore his cap and gown and everyone went around telling him how much they loved him and were proud of him, and how they couldn’t wait to see how his next chapter unfolded. He seems like a genuinely sharp and compassionate 18 year old.
The whole time I wanted to stab myself with a fork. It wasn’t because I found mingling that awkward. It’s that that wasn’t my graduation experience. I did jack shit when I got my associates, which is fine really because its not much more than a dead tree to me. Would have been better if it had stayed a tree.
I didn’t even know if I was going to graduate high school until about a month before it actually happened. To be fair to myself, I got really sick and missed months of school that last semester…. Junior year basket-case-ness aside.
I don’t think anything like that will ever happen to me. I don’t think I’m going to get toasted by a room full of people. If something freakish happens that results in me getting married, I’d probably elope, so still no toasts.
I don’t know if a wide net of people are proud of or have hope for me. I felt like an ass for thinking of just myself for maybe 70% of that whole celebration, but how could I not?
To hell with it though. I’m not dead. I can still follow my own star. And who doesn’t love a survivor, or a good comeback story?
Thank you for reading my little nothings. ❤️
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