I hear too many old people warning me. “Time goes by so fast. You really have to pay attention. Before you know it, it’s all years ago. Man, it feels like just yesterday, doesn’t it?” Okay, if you’re old and reading this, stop doing that. We know. We remember puberty. You’ve gotta stop; you’re making me feel like shite.
When you say it so fondly like that… wow, where did the time go… and you smile caught in a memory, then you smile, shake your head, and go back to reading the paper. Flip. Flip. Don’t do that. Your flippant remark makes me feel retarded. I’m slow. I’m not moving fast enough, in the right direction. I better hurry up or I won’t get enough of the good stuff. Because believe me, if this point in my life is the good stuff, I’m screwed. I always believed good stuff was jumping on the sofa until you laugh, and kiss one another, car singing games, rolling your eyes laughing at someone you love. It’s fun, and dirty, and you find a family, make a family, love someone completely, you snort and stop caring if you’re doing it all wrong because you know. You know in your heart it’s amazing and right. You just know. And you love selflessly… the man, the woman, the kids, the dog, the lack of space. You love it all. That is the good stuff.
I want to make those memories with someone. I want to start that life and to make a past with someone who can be my memory once I’ve created my distortions. I want someone to roll his eyes and tell me that’s not at all how it happened. Then kiss me on the head and love me anyway. We all want that. I have funny dating stories about foot cramping trying to make-out, and they’re lovely memories, but I’m tired of funny. Well, that’s not true. I love funny. I just want to share funny, to have another person be my personal notebook, to be my memory, and to know me when. This theme of mine has got to go. What do I do though? A girl can only write, draw, sing, and surround herself with amazing friends for so long before she, well, before she starts a blog and vents how much she wants. Don’t get me wrong; I love what I do have. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting, though. I’m a striver. In the meanwhile, I’ve got a notebook… it’s 3:10 am, Thursday night, technically Friday morning, and I’m writing in it now… but you knew that.