Now, when I'm forced to remember how old I am, I have to do the math. It’s like a mental block. What year is it? When was I born? Subtract, and that makes me…. 28. Never mind the brief period when I couldn’t even remember the year (that’s motherhood, folks. I knew what Juliette ate, how many times she pooped, and how many minutes she had slept that day, but I couldn’t remember the year).
No matter what the actual number is, the fact is that lately I’ve been feeling old. Old old old old old. Maybe it is because I am surrounded by spry young girls who were born more then a decade after me, and they are constantly talking about parties (the kinds with kegs, not crayons) and boyfriends and vacations and waking up so early at 8:00!! It makes me nostalgic. Or, maybe it is because I found my old junior high school yearbooks when I was unpacking my library the other day. I was reading the inscriptions from people; they are all so young and happy and excited. Tina! You are an awesome person! And such a great dancer! Remember that time when blah blah blah blah blah! That was crazy! Keep in touch OK 777-5609!! Of course I don’t remember that 'crazy' time…, and if they didn’t put their last name I can’t cross reference them to their photo so I’m not sure I even remember them, and therefore obviously I didn’t do such a good job at keeping in touch with these people who had such high opinions of me.
I don’t remember being a very popular person back in high school; of course I had friends but I wasn’t in the 'in' crowd. Somehwere between sixth and seventh grade I fell "out". However, my yearbooks are full of signatures, and they are all so glowingly complimentary. Sigh. How young. How full of possibility. I had so many goals for myself. Go to college. check. Get a PhD. check. Get married. check. Have a nice house. check. And a family. check.
That’s where my list ended. So…. now what? Of course I wish all those things for my kids, but that isn’t enough.
I need my own goals.
What are my own goals?
The cursor is blinking. The rest of the page is empty. Void. Blank. My mind is the same way.
It seems like lately instead of moving forward, I'm rushing to stay in place. My new motto is better late then never. So, here, this is for you, Kim. You asked for this a long time ago, and voila! I found it... although this is ninth grade, not 12th (if I'm on the ball - which I am not, lately, so don't hold your breath - I will get 12th grade too):
Greg actually likes this hair.
