The house is cold; the heat's off for the season but it's 44 degrees outside, which means it's 55 in here.
I want impossible things.
I miss my 20 year old body. I feel ugly and I know I'm growing no younger; maybe the years wouldn't matter so much if I had a body that didn't wear them so. I wish I'd been born with legs meant to be skinny little things. I wish I looked like a child.
25 doesn't make me an old maid, but I just spent my Saturday morning handing out pamphlets about Cleveland State's tutoring services to shuffling crowds of cute high school seniors. I spent my Saturday morning wanting to die. How could I hide my shabby sweater and dusty jeans? How could I hide from all of these girls with tiny thighs in skinny jeans, in North Face jackets and Sperry loafers? with dark mascara and just-so hair? with their high-school giggles and their high-school grins? How could I blend in?
I couldn't. I was so painfully, obviously, closer-to-30 than close-to-teenaged that I just wanted to crawl out to the patio with my hat pulled down around my eyes and smoke a cigarette. Even my co-worker- a sophomore at CSU- was only 20, and she talked like a (like) 20 (like) year old, and ate a fruit cup and Nutter Butter Bites for breakfast at 10 30am.
Today my heart feels so, so heavy and my spirit feels so, so old.