Childish

So I am in my room, attempting to go to sleep. I am planning on bringing the my-size Barbie I mentioned earlier back with me to La Jolla, because I hate to see it sit in the closet and do nothing. Then I started contemplating what exactly I was going to do with it. The problem is that dolls are easily creepy as artwork, and Barbie represents part of the ultimate shallowness of our culture. She exists to change clothes, drive convertibles and utter vapid catchphrases; in her spare time she plays a princess to be rescued. Turning her into the popular-girl-gone-rebel is still a shallow commentary. I could shave her head and turn her into an android, but it would probably be creepy.

Actually, I might do something like that.

The thing is, I'm not looking to comment on culture(for once) with this doll. I'm bringing back a happy memory of a Christmas when I got what I wanted. Nobody else will understand, but this isn't ironic.

I could make a cool android costume easily....

My room at home is weirdly frozen in time, a commentary on all the little hidden things from when I was younger. I've genuinely changed, though I am still going to play with my stuffed animals. Just not have tea parties with them like I did in third grade.

I DARE YOU to comment. Ok, I don't. Please don't shame me?

One day, all of these little odds and ends and old toys will find a use somehow. I can't bear to part with them, but I also can't bear to watch while they sit by idly. Whether being encorporated into artwork or something else, I won't simply let my childhood either sit idly or be given away.

I'm going to read Applied Lingustics to feel better about myself.