Thoughts on Chlorine, Mirrors, & the Art of Traveling Light

I absolutely love the smell of chlorine.  That sounds sick, seeing as it's a potentially harmful chemical, if ingested in large quantities.  It also really smarts when you get it in your eyeballs; trust me, I work at a pool.

And that's the exact reason I love the smell of chlorine.  It's not exactly a crisp and clean smell, though you do know the water must be safe, if you get that scent early in the morning.  It burns your nostrils and wakes up your brain.  It makes your eyes sting and water, when you forget your goggles.  And God help the poor soul who actually swallows a mouthful or two of chlorinated pool water - moreso because no one really knows what kids are doing in the water, not because of the chlorine.  It's almost sweet, not sour, and hangs in the air and on your clothes long after you've climbed out of the pool.

One of my favorite things to do in the dead of winter is to dig out one of my village-issued swim instructor T-shirts and summon up the sights and sounds of a summer that exists only in my memory.  Watching the older kids paddle through laps through my aviator shades, the world tinted brown or blue or gray.  The bridge is in the distance, across the bay, promising the beach later in the day, maybe, and boats sometimes pass too close to the bulkhead for the lifeguard's comfort.

And it's not even the memories that makes me love the smell.  It's the smell itself, so singular and indescribable.

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Thoughts on "You have 10 seconds", "It's His Idea", Hooked on Phonics

I talk pretty fast. If ever I had to be in debate club and count words per minute, I'd feel bad for whoever had to count my speed. And no, this is without coffee - with would be too dangerous.

But that has to do with my mom. She's not someone I would call simple by any means. Not only did she design our house - no, she's not an architect - she also holds a patent for an invention or two. However, my mom likes simplicity. So whenever I would talk to her about something - i.e: Harry Potter, video games, or anything I'm truly interested in - she would look at me and say "You have 10 seconds." Well, ten seconds or until I could tell she wasn't listening because her eyes would glaze over and she would change the subject. And no, I'm not an expert in persuasion or holding people's attention.

Thoughts on Being Someone You're Not, Sarcasm, & the Seven (or More) Words You Can't Say on TV

They tell you to be who you are, to face each day with confidence and every hater with proud defiance.  They tell you bullies quiver when you stand up to them.  They tell you the underdogs will make it, too, and live far more fulfilling lives than the popular kids.

By "they," I, of course, mean motivational posters.  And the people who grade the New York State Regents.  Absolutely terrifying.

An Introduction is in Order...

Hello, hello, hello, and welcome!  Katie speaking, known as katiemickgee in most of the Internet realm, and ready to introduce you to what we here at "Big Myth We Live" hope will become something of a phenomenon among the blogging, writing, and casually observing set.

The Memoir Project is currently in its infant stages, born mere days prior to this introductory post, sprung from a love of reading, a love of writing, and a love of the mundane.  Everyone has tiny details they notice, the little bits and pieces of life that make the life you live uniquely yours.  It's the way the sun tumbles off the windowsill in the morning, as you read the paper and drink your tea.  It's the cat fur on the sofa and the chew toy abandoned in the corner.  It's the framed photographs on the wall, or the seventh grade art projects hidden under your bed.  It's the CDs stacked in the closet, the rain on the pavement, the way you enunciate a favorite word, listening to a friend talk about their favorite things.  It's your life.  And every single aspect of it is absolutely, unmistakably important.