If you got too anxious and went right to reading this, I've had an epiphany. I revamped the blog. It's now "memoirs of a teenager". I feel that I have to give you what you deserve, snippets of my life. Like any good biographer, it's only fair to start at the beginning, I'll begin with my most vivid memories.
Location: Long Island, NY Age: Two
My big brother and I are called inside by my mom. Conor, like usual, grabs onto my hand and makes sure I make it up the long steps leading up to our house. I can feel a hint of sand gracing the steps, probably tracing back to Conor dragging our boogie board inside from a day at the beach. Our youngest brother has just awoken from his nap and we can't wait to play. I find myself in his bedroom, peeking over his crib, with the giraffe mural gracing his head. I never understood that mural or the cow sheets in his crib. Neither fit as a proper jungle scene. Conor is big enough to reach and places his strong, gentle hands underneath Corbin's shoulders. Corbin rises from his sheets, happy to be relieved of boredom. As we make our way outside, I put on my purple star sunglasses. I place one Ked on the pedal of my bike and pull my other leg to the other side. The three of us pretend we're motorcyclists. Our babysitters giggle at the cuteness of the scene, but I don't like their laughter. I take myself very seriously. The roof is bright red and I like it that way, especially against the white of the walls. We're different from our neighbors. They're grey, grey, grey, black, black, black.