I Was Popular Once

crazywriterI was kind of popular…once. Before popularity really existed, I was popular. I was well-liked and celebrated by my peers, not for who I was trying to be, but for who I was.
Third grade.

I didn’t feel the need to be anyone different than myself. I was Abigail, and I was happy with that girl. My writing wasn’t generally dark or sad. Overall, I loved third grade. Sometimes I wonder if my entire life peaked that year, at eight years old, but I know that’s silly.

So, you’d wonder why I decided to completely remake myself into “Abigail 2.0: the cool kid” going into fourth grade. I wonder, too. Suddenly, I wasn’t “sweet little writer princess” anymore; I was “sassy class clown kid.” I think I was obnoxious, honestly, but I don’t think my classmates thought so. And if they were, I was too oblivious to know or care. It was me and this other boy–we were the loud, funny ones. We were unashamed. Unafraid. I had spunk.

So, I don’t know if everyone in my grade matured that summer, or if I just got ten times more obnoxious–because the same tricks that had gotten my classmates laughing in fourth grade didn’t make them so happy in fifth. I should’ve gotten the memo that nobody liked class clowns anymore. But I didn’t–I thought that nobody could just stop liking something in one summer.

Thus, I became the obnoxious one. I had my one or two years of being liked–fought over, even.

Somebody tell me. What is like to be so wanted that you’re fought over? It’s been too long. Refresh my memory.

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About Dauntlessly Cautious

I’m Abigail, a wildly emotional teenage blogger-empress. Sometimes I blog about my copious feelings. Sometimes–a lot, actually–I blog about my past. Sometimes it’s random and unexpected–romantic thoughts passing by, an odd dream I had, and so on. Oh yes, and I have a lot of opinions. Chances are you’ll disagree with at least one of them. I started blogging in April 2013, a little before my fourteenth birthday. Since then, I’ve published many posts–some groundbreaking and ingenious, some embarrassingly dismal. No matter their quality, however, they all play some sort of a part in my life story. If you’re in a stalking mood, read how my attitude changes from good to bad and back to better again. It’s all me. This is the mind of the odd, imaginative girl you see in the hallways, the cafeteria, and in classes. This is the heart of a human battlefield turned into a wonderful, scar-littered garden of hopes and dreams. Welcome to the two (or three, or four) sides of me–the daunting and the rash, the apprehensive and the careful.

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