Waste away, young lads and lasses. Enjoy your time.

I miss my youth.

Now, before you go brow-beating me about how I’m still young, how I have so much longer to go before I lose my youth, or how much older than me you are and yadda yadda yadda (oh, yeah, I totally just ‘yadda yadda’d’ you), hear me out.

I mean not only youth in body, but youth in spirit, feeling, knowledge.

I miss the bliss of ignorance, the forever stretched out before me. The feeling that anything is possible.

With the passage of time comes experience; with experience comes knowledge, understanding (of sorts).

They say youth is wasted on the young. However, you realize, that is what makes it worth it. If the young knew the value of youth – the desire they would feel to have it back when it was gone… they would never really be able to enjoy it, would they?

With knowledge comes the shift.

The more you learn about the true nature of humans and the things of the world, the more you have to let go of the naive idealism that kept your young cheeks rosy and new.

No, there is no need to let go of hope, determination, and wonder. I am wide-eyed at the world still, believe me.

You could not freely wander the earth with your eyes, heart and mind open and not find a new and amazing thing every day if you tried. This is why I take photographs. Because over and over… again and again, even within my tiny sphere of movement, this happens to me.

So lecture me not on being able to capture the wonder of youth even with age.

But sit beside me for a spell and mourn with me this thing that must happen to us all. Some of us more than others, or maybe just a little bit sooner. But to all of us, it happens, to some degree or another.

The truth is that we must open our hands and let the fancy daydreams of childhood slide from our palms sometimes. Some things which happen steal them from us like wicked trolls, whisk them away to dark places; hiding them from the light. Only a child can pluck them out anew and let them grow for a time again.

My hands are too old to hold onto things which must escape them, already. The effort of trying has worn my fingers tired and weary.

We move through life, rolling along, and suddenly things assault us from this direction or that. The human tendency to ignore these possibilities on a conscious level from day to day allows us to function; it allows us to keep those wheels rolling, greasy and smooth. But no amount of greasing stops a rock from throwing you off your axel. You’ll have to reconsider concepts like need, desire, and love when your cart overturns.

It can take a long time to grease that wheel again. I’m workin’ on it.

I’m workin’ on it.

I speak in riddles because the words are too painful and tiresome to lay out in detail and push around into the proper order. It has been yet another day of remembering so many things that I would sometimes like to forget.

Sometimes.

So many things, some of which I’ve shared before, others which I may never tell you. Time will tell.

For now I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, push a long, tired breath out, and put one hand inside of the other. And hold on.

Tomorrow, I’ll open my eyes, and move those wheels along again.

On a somewhat related note: man, I farckin’ hate PMS.

Haiku Assvice.

Scraping the barrel
like never before these days.
Weak, and yes, ashamed.

I know it takes time.
Am no stranger to symptoms;
it is depression.

From this low vantage
I can look up and see those
who are still moving.

Hear what they say, watch
what they do, and be amazed
at what’s important.

Be amazed at what
some find worthy of energy.
Anger. Ugliness.

It is so easy
to become ensnared in that.
Don’t let it happen.

With experience
comes perspective, and when it’s
shared, take what you can.

Try not to jump so
quickly to offense, anger…
do you benefit?

It is not easy
to step back and remain calm
with little practice.

I say this because
I know. I’m quick to anger,
easily annoyed.

And so often quite
the righteous rebel. And what
have I gained from this?

Drama is pointless.
Time passes by and I am
wasting my focus.

Have always found it
easy to see negatives.
Overlook the good.

Life is rich, complex.
Try to remind yourselves of
of this and do your best

to just ignore the
insignificant bumps and
enjoy all the rest.

When I hated both my vagina and my mom, simultaneously.

I remember when I first started getting armpit hair.

I was mortified.

My mom?  Was excited. 

I was sitting on her bed, with my hands behind my head, all chilled out, leaning back.  I can remember her noticing the armpit hair and pointing it out, smiling and gesturing.  The expression on my face had to have been one of complete and total terror.  She, on the other hand, was dangerously close to suggesting we should have a parade for my pit hair.

I could see myself on the lead Pit Hair Parade! float, my arms strapped up and to the sides.  Large spotlights would aim at my pits and flower adorned arrows would be positioned to point right at the tiny hairs there, in case people were not aware that LOTUS.HAS.PIT.HAIR.NOW!!!

I slapped my arms down, and tried to change the subject, while mentally willing with all my might that time would just stop.  Maybe God really did exist and I could pray to him right now to erase this?

Because it was embarassing. 

Of course, at that age, at a moment like that, you think nothing could be worse.

But, of course, you are WRONG.

Because then?  You have your period.  Because that’s what happens to girls.  At some point, your cooter’s gonna bleed, and you’re going to have to tell someone so you can take care of that problem before it really gets out of hand.

And it’s NEVER NOT EMBARASSING.

No.  Nope. Shut up.  Don’t tell me your wonderful story of Not Embarassing First Period Having.  Just stick your hands in your pockets and whistle while you tell yourself that you were about to tell me a big, fat, horrible LIE and think about how you’re sorry.

So, um, anyway.  Who do you tell?  If you’re like me, you tell your mother.  And you don’t enjoy it.  But you get it over with, and then you expect it to go away.

You don’t expect to be washing the dishes after dinner, minding your own business, and have your mother practically float into the room on her Mommy Pride and gush about it to the two MALE, European houseguests sitting at the kitchen table.

They speak very little English, but you quickly see that they have perfected that Creepy Guy Look Of Knowing And Thinking Ew Things, because they are aiming it right at you.  Picture it, right now.  If your skin didn’t crawl, you don’t know what I’m talking about.

I.Couldn’t.Believe.She.Had.Done.That.

She CLEARLY hated me. I was SURE of it.

I just wanted to DIE.

And reflecting back upon these things now, I have to tell you that I still *cringe* when I remember this stuff.  But now I also get it.  I have an idea of how she felt.  I feel it every time I see evidence of Braden growing and changing.  Each little example of him becoming and experiencing and doing and being?  I want to tell everyone!  And, well, it’s clear that I overshare.  I mean, a large majority of you have seen my kid’s hind quarters.  I think it’s safe to say that I’ve already laid the groundwork for putting Braden in situations where he’ll just want to DIE.

But one day, maybe, he’ll get it, too. 

I’m just thankful my mom never had a website.

Braden’s in for it.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you lovely and wonderful mothers out there.  Keep being proud – they’ll get over it.