There are more examples in my lj, but this is far and away the funniest one.
This weekend, when I was in Jerkwater, I found a huge stack of notebooks and old papers from 9th and 10th grade, which I thought were my two in-the-closet-the-deepest years.
I went through some of the old notebooks. You know those catatonic classes from high school? The ones that were required for graduation, and made you wish your teacher actually was a trained monkey because at least that would be kind of cool? I sure do. Before I discovered the thrill of homemade comic books, I scribbled in the margins of my notebooks. I did that whole doodler thing: just let your mind go blank and your hand move wherever it will.
I didn’t draw anything in particular, just lines and shapes. Whatever I was feeling at the moment seemed to manifest itself in those lines and shapes. On some days when I wasn’t feeling well, my doodles would be tight and constricted, when I was tired, my lines would be long and lazy and meandering, when I was hyperactive and bored, they would form spikes and skinny triangles.
I flipped through the notebooks, and while most of the margins were full of random shapes and lines and cartoony faces, one of the biggest recurring themes was
naked women.
Page after page of them! None more than half an inch tall, but with curves, hair, sometimes draping bedsheets, and (of course) sex organs lovingly rendered by a ballpoint pen.
I have no memories of drawing naked women in my notebooks. Hell, I don’t have any memories of drawing any pictures in my notebooks - I just drew lines and shapes, I thought. I couldn’t do anything else but put the notebooks back, shake my head and say “Woah. Weird.”