Posted by: shellyweave | April 26, 2010

second star to the right and straight on till morning…

One of the hardest things to deal with, I’ve come to realize, is the business of growing up. As a junior in high school, I am at a very important point in my life where being a reckless teenager allows me to walk the thin line between child and adult, and I try not to take a day of that for granted, because I can clearly see that phase ending just on the horizon. I mean, I am writing this as I balance a bowl of Ramen Noodles, two Facebook chats, and a mom who just poured said noodles into a bowl for me because I am too lazy. That screams teenager to me, but inside that head of mine is a turmoil of emotions that have spawned from thinking a little too much about the future, and having a little too much opposition on the growing up front around me.

There are the people around me that are already planning their fall semester schedules at schools on the other side of the country, looking at housing situations, and even starting to think about marriage. These are the people that I am slowly becoming, following in their footsteps as my last year in high schools draws ever closer. I like being around these people, we have fun without being stupid, and it’s good for me to know what is barreling towards me in just a few years, but being around them too much burdens me.

I am not ready to give up my youth.

Since I recieved my driver’s license, a year and some months ago, I have adopted a lifestyle that I can only describe with the word young. My weekends are blurs of sugared orange slices, sitting in the barkyard until the early morning, juggling a Mucho Mango and the steering wheel, and scrambling to get an assigment done at the last minute. I spend hours getting ready for a short movie with a group of friends, and all of that prep time just gets ruined when we decide to jump in the pool because we can. My floor is covered in books, wrappers, jeans and guitar picks. My dresser is a wreck, my closet is just an extenstion to the mess that is my laundry basket, and I have piles of Sort Of Clean and Was Clean Before Being Thrown on the Floor sloppily divided throughout the binders and curling irons that have made their home in awkward corners. My car is littered with make up compacts, homework, an extra pair of shoes and a rogue air freshener that I still cannot make stick to the vent like the package says it will. My best mornings consist of peeling my face from an overheating Macbook, dodging the previously mentioned piles, blindly throwing my hair in to a ponytail and making it to school without another bonehead student hitting me. I pick up the phone, hear two sentences, and am out the door, sisters and a few dollars in tow, shouting “Love you, Mom!” and trying to situate the five dollar sunglasses I got from Target in a way that almost makes me look cool.

I am a rush, and I love every minute of it.

Responsibility is not a stranger, but we aren’t exactly Top Friends status either. All of the things I am concerned with now, I know somewhere in the back of my mind to be trivial in the eyes of anyone over the age of twenty one. I do have moments where I can delineate between a time to be stupid and a time to be mature. The adult that I will be someday is becoming more and more prevalent, and I feel like this short phase where I could just leave and not worry about where I was heading until I got there is slipping quickly and effortlessly away. I’m looking forward to a bright and happy future, but at the same time I am dragging my feet and trying to stay in a world where the word dinner is perfectly applied to Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles and an Arizona Iced Tea. When Meghan and I are sitting a stop light, sipping on 79 cent drinks from Circle K and debating which route would get us home but still let us listen to this song all the way through, I can’t help but get a tinge of pain when I remember that this will just be a fading memory and I will be trying to find a route that will avoid heavy traffic and yelling at the person in front of me for driving too fast.

So I am proposing a new rule for myself:

Thou shalt not fall to either side of the Reckless Teenager/Straight-laced Adult fence a day before I have to. The balance beam of my life can handle a few more years of filling friend’s cars with balloons and sure-come-on-over-even-though-we-barely-know-eachother-and-it’s-almost-midnight moments. I have the disgression of an adult, but the option to go ahead and take the joyride mentality of a seventeen year old. I may not be invincible, but I am still down for the waking up with black X’s on my cheek look that I’ve rocked before and will gladly rock again. Peter Pan ain’t got nothin’ on me.

PS: Song of the Week! It’s Razor by Foo Fighters. Dave Grohl is one of my idols, and if I ever met him I may or may not drop dead at the sight of his awesomeness. This song is just so different from their rock stuff, and Josh Homme plays guitar in it, a fellow Them Crooked Vultures member and Queens of the Stone Age member.

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