It’s suddenly become very clear to me that I am not actually a 32 year old woman. All the signs pointed to it but I just didn’t pick up on them until this very morning when I woke up late in a deep haze and stared through the back of my fingernails trying to figure out what color my nail polish was with light shining through it.
– I giggle when people make jokes about doing it
– I love and wear tights and leggings. I like fancy socks
– Lip gloss, don’t leave home without it
– I wear the shoes that will look “best” with the outfit. No I don’t care if they’re comfortable. Yes they happen to be the same pair of shoes everyday… those boots just happen to look best with EVERY OUTFIT
– I pass notes to my friends and giggle
– Fine the notes are actually in the form of direct messages on twitter but still… whatever.
– I pouted because the “Sugar Skull” nightgown I got for K was not made in my size
– I hate doing my chores
– I don’t know WHAT I want to be when I grow up
– I just bought a new bottle of black nail polish and it’s the best thing ever!
Really the only difference is that when school starts on Tuesday I’m going to be doing a little dance of joy, but then I’m going to take a nap which is totally something I would have done at 14.
Now where’s my poetry journal? I need to go write about this cute boy I know. And death. And rain of course.