Pages

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Not Too Shabby. I Hate It When It's Too Shabby.


  My birthday snuck up on me, that sneaky sneak. Last year, I turned thirty, and it was a milestone. A milestone that was a diversion, a diversion that made me feel like somebody. I had the same feeling when I turned eight. Well aged beyond my imagination. I'm like the oldest person ever. How could I possibly have come this far? I'm not surprised that I survived, but relived that I could harness such patience. The patience to wait through infinite moments that must pass to travel through time. Not that I don't enjoy time, and I'm certainly in no hurry to have it all pass away, but it demands constant attention. I know what time it is now, and about what time I'll do the next thing I need to do, how much time is in between the two, and how much time until another thing, and the best times to do things tomorrow. It's been a struggle since the beginning. A disease like gambling. It's important to keep a positive attitude. The future is now. I'm proud of myself. 
  Above all else, it's my special day. I want to wake up early to make the day longer, but I also want to stay in bed because I know that there's no rush. I usually don't do either. My special day makes me special. People ask what I have planned, and afterward, they ask about what I did. I plan on being special. I have it all worked out. 
  I stopped being stupid around the age of twenty-eight or nine. I could literally feel personality flaws leaving my body, being replaced by fresh new things to be used until new standards are raised. In enough time I'll be stupid again. Serves me right. I judge others for what they say and do, and that's wrong. It's also wrong to judge others for what they've said and done. Good people don't form opinions, and that's how they should be judged, long as they like and share. I haven't evolved enough to understand why it's a big deal, but until I have an army, I wouldn't worry much about me. 
  Me!! Mature and such. I got my first period exactly one week before my tenth birthday. It was a magical time because it meant that I was finally allowed to shave the braids from my armpits. I've been mature for quite a while. Menstruating and shaving do me justice, but real women go through the change. I consider myself a matured girl, or young woman, but never a grown ass woman. People say miss, not ma'am. But, I'll always be so many years old, not young. I don't age in reverse, don't patronize me, sonny. 
  If I live enough years, I'll be cute as a baby again. I'll say the darnedest things, and everyone will laugh because I'm dying soon. Every day will my special day. I just need to be patient. 
  Birthdays sure are something though. Measure your life, hurray! I should've accomplished more, but my parents never hit me. There was a sixth grade Social Studies teacher who wanted me to believe otherwise, but it's hard to take someone seriously when they're flirting with your friends. It's nice to reminisce, and reflect, and be thankful for right choices. I could have worse regrets. I've seen crappier people. I'm not single, and I eat my vegetables.. Not too shabby for thirty-one. 
  Thursday I'll be somebody, and Friday it won't matter. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, but live it as if it's your last. Take comfort in those close to you, unless you keep your enemies closer, I'll refer you to my food taster. Stay thirty, my friends, it's all downhill from here. 
  Oh, and if you have a birthday too, high five! 





No comments:

Post a Comment