I've decided that I need to keep a journal. Plain and simple. You see, I don't have a very good memory, so the longer it's been stored in my head, the more jumbled up it becomes-hence the name of my blog. Reality can become fiction that way. Now, some of the things in this journal may seem like I am embellishing the truth..or just flat out embellishing..well, I guess you'll just have to take my word for it.

You're supposed to keep a journal from the time you are very little. I, however, never did. I guess it's a good thing I'm still little- even tho I may have aged (but I will vehemently deny I'm over 25...). So I guess I'll just have to start at the beginning and just say what I remember.

I was born in Provo Utah. And that's all I can recall on that subject. We then moved to Arizona when I was 2. Supposedly my mom was driving and hit some black ice and the car went spinning all over the road...but I was 2..you'll have to ask my mom about that one. The next thing I remember was hating daycare. You see, my dad suffered from seizures and so my mom had to work (and I believe she was also going to school at this point) so I had to go to daycare. I don't remember much, but I remember not liking it. I think that maybe that's why I'm such a mama's girl. My older sister's just took her being there for granted, but I never wanted her to leave. I remember just sitting on the couch watching Sesame Street while my dad was sleeping (I actually don't remember anybody being home...but I'm sure somebody had to be there...right?). Somewhere in there I remember riding on the back of my dad's bike in a metal seat and my heel got caught and ripped it open leaving a big patch of skin just hanging there. Also, my oldest sister once gave me a ride on her shoulders, tripped on a vacuum cord which sent me flailing and I fell, my head breaking my fall on the metal edge of our glass door. It gave me a pretty nasty gash on my forehead. I can recall my dad kneeling next to me examine it, then picking me up in my blue blankie (I had to have it with me) and holding me tight as my mom drove to the doctor. They numbed the area to give me stitches and I pretended to read (I'm pretty sure the book was upside down) while they stitched me up. And then when I was 5 my parents moved us all to the middle of nowhere. On this dusty piece of forsaken land sat a rusty old trailer with all sorts of bible verses and pictures painted all over the front side of it. There was a disproportionately large deck attached to it with an above ground pool. Off to the East of it the owner had built a 3 car green garage...why? I don't think I'll ever know. Then further East were two beautiful mountains without a house in sight. This is where most of my life was spent and where I'll leave off for now.