Letters to the old me…and bat funerals

I think until I’m balanced and “back to normal” again, you’ll just get sporadic posts from me on this blog. Sorry in advance.

The up side? I think they’ll all be pretty short. Sue will be pleased 🙂 (love you, Sue)

I purchased a book by one of my favourite bloggers, Allie Brosh the other day. Her book is called “hyperbole and a half” (haha) and in typical Janet fashion, I loved what I read, then I measured it against anything I have written – found myself lacking, spiralled into shame and am now reacting with fierce competitiveness.


Ally writes about finding a letter to her 25-year-old-self that she wrote when she was 10. It’s a brilliant story. She then goes on to discuss what she’d write to her past selves if time travel was available.

In true Janet fashion, I’ve decided to copy that brilliance.

Here are a few letters I’d write to past Janet:

Dear 8-year-old Janet,

You’re a weird child, God bless you. Why do you find it necessary to give dead bats a funeral? You’re already quite the loner. This whole ‘free funerals for bats’ thing isn’t going to help you. I know you care about them and I know you want a kind word said over each bat. I love that you put so much time and effort into cycling for hours, gently putting dead bats into your basket, digging the graves and making crosses from small twigs that you lovingly bind together with lemon-grass. When you’re feeling particularly generous, you gather a small bunch of wildflowers to place at the foot of the tiny cross. A lot of time and effort has gone into this because your little mounds of bat graves are all over the neighbourhood. Each bat gets it’s own poem and a random Bible scripture you select from your dusty, worn children’s Bible. That’s lovely…but really, really unusual.

This isn’t going to be looked upon as awesomely as you imagined.

The nickname “Bat Girl” isn’t as complimentary as you’d like to think it is.

Dear 17-year-old Janet,

Not everyone played the same games with their siblings as you and Jay. For instance, asking “did you tie each other up and push each other into the swimming pool to time how long it took you to escape?” is always going to be met with blank looks. Always.

Dear 14-year-old Janet,

It feels like your world has ended, but there is more to life than Matthew Jenkins.

I promise.

Dear 19-year-old Janet,

It took guts to leave Gavin. I’m proud of you and this will end up being the best decision you ever made.

Dear 6 year old Janet,

When you put that stick into the campfire, then decided to poke your bathers with it and found the hole that appeared – quite magical…doesn’t mean you should have kept doing it until you had tiny burns on your skin and big holes all over your completely destroyed bathing suit.

I’m pretty sure your Mom worries about your mental state when you do stuff like this.

Dear 13 year old Janet,

I agree, it wasn’t funny when you’d been bursting for the toilet on the long walk home from school, finally reached the front door and got frightened by your Dad jumping out and gleefully yelling “BOO!” at you…which resulted in you wetting your pants (white jeans by the way – why did you think they were cool???) and your Dad laughing his ass off for what seemed like weeks.

No more white jeans and a definite toilet trip before any long walk, ok?


Dear 20-something-year-old Janet,

No one believes you about Anne.

But I do.

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