Tag Archive | Worrying

Time Is Running Out

Well, not really. I mean time can’t actually run anywhere, nor can it suddenly die from a cookie overdose (sh*t happens), but you get the point. At the start of a new school year, I realized that I’m a junior, which means that at the current moment in time, I have less than two years before I go off to University and leave my home forever. And frankly, the thought of moving on with my life scares me a whole lot.

When I was a little girl, I had no concept of time. Some people, namely my mother, would argue that I still don’t, but it has come to my attention how much my appreciation of the timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly stuff has changed (DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE). At the age of six or seven I had no fixed timetable, no calendar to look at and remind myself that I had an orthodontist appointment the day before which I missed (Oops, oh well. *doesn’t care*). School was school, and it went on until my mom told me it was time for vacation and that I’d only come back in two weeks. I never knew that my last day of 1st grade was the last day, I only knew when I didn’t have to get up too early for my organism to handle the next day. Summer vacation was eternity, each day stretching out with limitless possibility, succeeding the last with equal importance. My mother’s birthday (the 22nd of August) which now seems abominably close to the end was just a random event in the long fabric of vacation. One day, it was time to go back to the world of books and number two pencils, and that transition was made without question. I was not in control.

As I got older, time started speeding up. I knew when school started and when it ended. When vacations came around I always looked forward to the first day of lying around in bed in a cocoon of warmth and coziness with glee, wishing the end would never arrive. During the summer I kept a conscious eye on the date at all times, measuring out the time I had left. Heck, I probably spend more time worrying about what things will be like when something ends than enjoying it while it happens.

Even though they have been filled with quite interminable math and latin classes, the last two years have flown by. On the first day of school you think; “Oh man this year is going to be soooo long, I don’t know how I’ll ever survive the boredom of lessons everyday. Better warn my unicorn to be ready each afternoon so that I can at least ride home in style”. And then, BAM, before you know it, you’re laughing and crying on the last day, swearing eternal friendship and wishing fervently that you were still the awkward new kid (although let’s face it, you still are and will always be, the awkward new kid).

This teenager has one terrifying question on her mind at the moment: if time has sped up so much in the past few years, where will things be at in, say, ten? Will a month then be equal to a day now? Does time keep speeding up until you’re whizzing around at the speed of a deranged giraffe? I’ll admit, I’m scared of what will happen. I guess that it’s important for me to remember that change can be good and that holding onto the past is not always the right path of action to take. Whatever metaphorical deer rush into my headlights, I’ll make sure that they’re all right in the end.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

An Ode to Mom

Dear Mom,

How do you put up with me? Now I know I can imagine your answer, it would be something like “love is blind”, which I would find both sweet and insulting at the same time.  You have a way with words that I envy terribly, and I hope someday I can be half as good a writer as you are. You can use your power to make someone happy or make them roll around on the floor sobbing. Not that, like, I would ever roll around on the floor crying my sorry eyes out. I’m more the type of person who drowns their sorrows in cookies. You know that.

You supply unconditional love and support to our family, and even when you’re mad because I’m constantly checking the score of the game instead of doing my homework I know that you’re only yelling because you want what’s best for me, and the Mets are definitely not that. Then again, you married Daddy; so you should have foreseen what you were getting yourself into. And although I yell back that the Mets are more important to me than homework, until they make the playoffs, they’re not. You’re right, you’re always right.

Every night when I’m in bed you come in and say the magic words, the words that one day I will repeat to my children, the words that are engraved in my mind and that I will never ever forget: “goodnight my sweet girl, may the gilgas dance and chomp in your dreams. I love you. See ya later alligator [I answer “in a while crocodile”],  in a while crocodile [I reiterate by saying “see ya later alligator”]. I love you”. Since we’ve been saying those words every night since I was a little girl you might think that the words are trivial and superficial to me now, but no. To me, those few sentences are the most important in the world. What’ll I do when I go off to college? Tape a note to the wall with those words? Nah, that doesn’t work. I guess I’ll just be the girl who calls her parents every day before she goes to lunch. Whaaaat, lunch? Yeah, the time difference sucks.

Yesterday was your birthday. Well, by the time this gets posted it will have been two days ago. You asked for a floor cleaning machine. A floor cleaning machine? Really? Who asks for that for their birthday? It was pointed out to me that it really is perpetrating the stereotype that all women want to do is clean (THAT’S NOT TRUE BY THE WAY). Well, amongst much laughter, we gave it to you. My dad said that it was the saddest birthday present he’d ever given. But then again, I guess that just another of your weird quirks. We’ve agreed to name the machine Mega Maid, like in Spaceballs. Yes, you have contaminated us with your weirdness.

I love that even though you work as a freelance editor for semiconductor companies you know nothing about technology. Your iPhone is a mystery to you, and you will never understand why Siri doesn’t function in a crowded, noisy place. And yes Mom, you do look like a crazy person, talking to your phone all by yourself. Since you’ve discovered emojis every text message you send is accompagnied by a thousand hearts of different colors, which is both terribly embarrassing and adorably lovable at the same time. I love that your ears have never been subjected to Justin Bieber and that you don’t know who Ryan Gosling is. I hate that you’re a Red Sox fan. Sorry.

I don’t know what I’d do without you. What if, all that time ago, you hadn’t made it past the operation table? What if we’d cried tears of sadness and despair instead of tears of joy? I can’t even bear to think about it. Today I worry about your worsening attention deficit, your memory loss, your eyesight. I worry because you’re my mom. I don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you.

I love you.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.