Time’s a ticking, and we’re letting it September 12, 2008

Another work week came and went. It’s interesting-when we’re 12 all we want to be is 16 and when we’re 16 we want to be 21. As I round out my last few days of being 21, I would trade in my driver’s license and big girl bra to be 12 again.

Even now, when all I want to do is clutch onto the small hours where I can browse the web or watch tv and talk to my friends, I count down the hours when I’m at work. Just like when I was 12, waiting for my teenagerdom to begin.

While in our last semester of college, my friend and I had a system while we were at our useless internships that brought us nothing but infinite boredom. We would IM each other with affirmations we concocted such as, “the second hour is approaching, just six more to go,” as if it made those six hours any easier.

As I think about my commute to work and the gloriousness of today marking the end of the work week, I can’t help noticing that yes, I am excited to count down the work week, but that also means I just blissfully counted away 7 days of my own existence. 7 days of being a young 21.

Pretty soon I’ll be pushing 35, big bellied and making pot roast somewhere in a little town, wearing fuzzy Joyce Leslie pink slippers (the horror, the horror!) and I’ll be cursing myself for not enjoying my twenties. For merrily looking forward to each weekend instead of just taking advantage of what I have now: no responsibilities, no kids, no problem. Also, my breasts are still perky and I have no mortgage to pay. Or rent for that matter (thanks mom, sorry I made fun of your slippers).

But you know what? Regardless of how I feel that my youth is slipping away from me, I still thank god it’s Friday.