I've Seen the Future and All I Can Say Is Go Back

I was never one of those kids who didn't want to grow up. I couldn't wait to grow up. The first specific age I wanted to reach was eleven. That was how old you had to be to hang out in the library by yourself. I was really cool. Then I started counting down to freshman year of high school, because really, middle school is just the Pit of Despair with more magazine subscription fundraisers and discussion of body odor. Then, obviously, the countdown to 16 began. 16 is when you get your driver's license in New Hampshire...you pretty much show up and show them you know how to turn on a car and move it forward and backwards and they give you a license. Where we're going, we don't need parallel parking, Marty!

Next up was eighteen, which meant I could vote. Which, yeah, I'll admit, I thought was freaking awesome. Pretty much I was Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club. (If you have a problem with me describing my youth in terms of eighties movies you can just gtfo, this is my blog.) Then I just wanted to go to college and ditch my small town high school. I was your typical Diane Court. And now here I am waiting around for the next big birthday--twenty-one. The age when apparently our brains become mature overnight and we magically all start drinking 1.5 glasses of Chardonnay and nibbling on cheese and crackers and all develop a distaste for infernal shit like Four Loko and Jaegermeister. Okay.

Now, I've matured. I've learned some stuff. Like always date a Wesley over a Jake Ryan, but definitely go with a Ferris Bueller over a Bender and a Lloyd Dobler over pretty much anyone. Except a Cameron Frye. That guy was basically the stealth hottie of Ferris Bueller's Day Off. He wins.

But man, junior year is getting me down. I'm living in a dorm, which makes me feel like a kid--an angry, sleep deprived kid-- and I'm also trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life, which is making me feel really old. I'm going to Spain for the semester in less than two months. That's freaking me out, in all honesty. I can't even decide if I want time to speed up or slow down. And I fucking hate it. I hate wallowing. Nobody puts me in a goddamn corner.

And yeah, I know I should chill out and be Zen about this situation called my life. I'm looking for a dare to be great situation when I all I need to do is relax and be the ball. And I am trying--I swear--to be the ball. After all, life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop to look around, you might miss it. I'm working on that one.