Haven't had a compelling thought or written anything interesting in a very long time. On the other hand, my spelling seems to be improving. Not much solace in that though, not a fair trade.
A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name. Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well. Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick. When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname. Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books. I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg...
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