December 11, 2013


L: Me in high school (with my good friend, Matt, who wears a bow around his neck because we were on our way to the Christmas dance) R: me, a few weeks ago taking SnapChat selfies (this is only one of many).

I keep thinking about that little girl I used to be on the left there. I remember that night and the week that followed, so vividly in my mind. I was lying by the fireplace in my mother's living room the night of the Christmas dance. She was on the couch watching the news. Matt told me earlier that day he would pick me up around six and we'd go to dinner and the dance. but I completely forgot about all of it and fell asleep on the carpet. We had so many Madrigal performances that winter (we were choir nerds) and I couldn't keep my eyes open for even one more minute. Matt rang the doorbell a few times and eventually, I woke up to him hovering over me. I remember feeling so stupid that I'd fallen asleep. I also remember being extremely nervous about having to go to school on my birthday the following Wednesday. Senior year of high school--the only year I've ever had to go to school on December 22. I walked into school on my birthday and since it was blizzarding, parking was a nightmare, and I was late for English. As I ran down the hall, I saw my old boyfriend who rarely acknowledged my existence. Curious to see if he'd wish me a happy birthday, I went out of my way to pass by him. He didn't wish it and I was, for the three thousandth time that month, DEVASTATED. I was a teenage masochist, I tell you!

Boy, I'd kill for those stupid problems today.

In two weeks, I'm going to turn twenty-two. As I enter my twenty second year, I have made a rule: there will be a lot less Taylor Swift and a lot more Lily Allen. Because, apparently at twenty-two, you put your game face on, accept the fact that you're pretty messed up, and try to pay your rent on time. Am I right?

And can we talk about the big, bushy, beautiful eyebrows I used to have? they used to be Lily Collins worthy, I'm telling you. And then, freshman year came along and I tweezed them until the eyebrow font ran dry. They haven't been the same ever since. RIP, eyebrows. You were good to me once.

1 comment:

i like words. and you. write me a few?