From Dalila's blog: start with 2007 and count backwards by 6. Write what was going on in your life during that year. Count backwards another six, and another, until your life - in this world, at least - begins.
Existential differentials may find this to be a very long meme...
2007: Just in the month of January, I've gone to a swanky party, I've had some long talks with good friends, I've had two manicures (TWO!), and I've re-joined Weight Watchers. Before the month ends, I will have taken the New York State Licensing Exam for Massage Therapy, attended three study sessions for said exam, and, hopefully, gotten a new job. Not bad for one month.
2001: This was the year I moved out of my marital residence and into a one-bedroom in Astoria. I was planning to divorce my husband, but then September 11th caused me (and a whole lot of other people) to re-evaluate life. Seven months later I was moving back in, giving the marriage another chance. A decision I do not regret.
1995: Probably the most significant year of my life. I dumped (sort of) the Big Bad Blonde Boyfriend and moved to New York City, diving into the ocean of life as though I were escaping a forest fire. I was twenty-four years old, an age that seems like infancy to me now.
1989: Another biggie. Graduated from high school. Dated an abusive redneck (if you can call that dating). Had an abortion, found a fantastic psycho-therapist, learned big words like "self-actualizing" and "assertiveness." Worked at an expensive lunch restaurant. Learned how to balance trays full of food and take compliments from strangers. Turned 18 and felt mildly disappointed that being a legal adult came with no practical advantages.
1983: A shit year. I turned fucking twelve, didn't get my braces off, and was uglier than any adolescent anywhere in the known universe. I caught the Chicken Pox that year, which left scars on my face so I was even uglier. I did have a fantastic English teacher, who made me feel less of a nerd and more of a genius. She also taught me to structure my writing, and I won our school's poetry contest that year with a sonnet called "A Rainbow's Smile" which seemed to bubble forth from the apotheosis of my emotional being. Or maybe I was trying to fake being a happy kid. Grown-ups like happy kids.
1977: I was six years old, and in first grade. My sweetheart was Scotty Dimond, who grew up to be even more of a basket case than me. My best friend was Rebecca Ellsworth, who grew up to be a juvenile delinquent, although I hear she straightened herself out by the time we reached college age. I spent most of that year, and the four years following, being chased around the playground by various classmates playing "Make Ouiser Cry," then pointing and laughing and calling me crybaby when I finally did. Little fucking bitches. I hope they all get cancer.
1971: I was born. My mother claims that it was during this year that I learned to sneak and scheme, as I developed a habit of waiting until her back was turned before I pulled all the diapers and towels and whatever I could grab out of the cabinet and threw them onto the floor. She should have signed me up for reform school right then.