training wheels

i blow kisses. i rub my eyes with my fists when im sleepy. when im flustered or unhappy, i put my hands on my face like this:

and when i laugh i smush my nose, and flap my hands around when i talk. i have bruises on my knees because i fall down and things. if im going to insult someone right now the first retort in my head is "i hope you choke." and if im really unhappy at the moment i will add "and die." if i call names its "dummyhead" and "meanyface" i eat macandcheeseandpeas and chipsandsalsa and hotfudgesundaes rather than tofu and mushroom souffle and tossed ceasar japanese salads with turnip greens. i want to dance and play dress up in highheels. i am terribly curious and i ask questionsquestionquestions. i still have training wheels on my bike and i want to have someone push me on the merrygoround and the tireswing.

o dear.

time to grow up baby girl. life isnt all about me.--surprise, i know. everyone laughs and everyone cries, just the same as me.
priorities, darling, priorities. i need to stuff my face with what my face needs to be stuffed with. keeping heart in pliable shape. maintain balance. --i must make the choice. of course.

growing up is bound to happen one way or another. and i want to choose to grow up the charming way--waiting, watching, learning, laughing, hoping, crying, and so on and so forth rather than having growing up forced on me. because that sort of growing up is the sort that requires one to give up the hotfudge and get the turnip greens. and that just would be more unpleasant than is strictly necessary. the kind of growing up that i want is the kind where you keep the hot fudge and are just godly, sexy, civil and wonderful and unselfish.

eh, the bruises will heal.
but i wonder if there are training wheels for life?

Posted 3/30/2005 6:36 PM -