Daylight Savings is a rather clever idea, I must admit. But it is responsible for my blog today.
We 'sprang forward' on Sunday. I don't know the correct tense of spring...but you get the idea. What was once 2 p.m. is now 3 p.m. I am including this example for all the Phoenicians who don't have to bother with Daylight Savings, as it is sunny 20 hours a day in Phoenix.
It isn't usually a big deal to change an hour either back or fowards. The body adjusts pretty quickly.
Unless that body is 2 years old.
Sabra woke up this morning at 5:30, which is normally kind of early. But considering the time change, it was still 4:30 to our sleepy noggins.
Usually all she needs is for someone to sleep beside her and give her a 'patpat', which is a light bootysmack that kids find soothing for some reason.
I obliged, bleary-eyed and probably half asleep.
Sabra wanted to play, however. She pointed to my eyes, forehead, neck, freckles, mole, eyebrows, etc. She just wanted to talk. Loudly. She tried to make a joke and claimed that her pet chihuahua, Charlie, had bit her neck. Naughty Charlie is apparently half-vampire. Chihuapire Charlie.
She finally feel asleep just as I heard the alarm clock militantly scream in my bedroom.
Blast and bloody hell, I was tired.
I happened upon some jeans and a pair of shoes...put them on....was missing something....need caffeine.....Sabra appeared in my room and requested that I put on my Mickey shirt.
I put the Mickey Mouse shirt on and covered it with my Trusty Hoodie That Brings Warm Feelings of Comfort, just to make her stop being so loud!
I brushed my teeth and grabbed a hair thingy. They are technically called elastics, but I challenge anyone who doesn't actually call them 'hair things'.
Are you getting a metal picture of how pretty I look today?
I didn't end up applying makeup, even though I brought it all with me. It is Monday, I'm very tired, and would makeup really help me when I'm wearing Mickey Mouse? I decided to accept defeat and not care about how I look today.
So I came to work and sat down to tackle the world's problems of glasses that went missing on Sunday and what the bookstore hours are.
A lady came into the front office. She was here last week looking for some assistance with her finances. She has been scouring the paper for a new job, and she looked like she was headed for an interview. She is a nice lady, and I hope she gets on her financial feet soon.
I mentioned in passing that she had been here before, and she told me that I must have a really good memory. I joked that my good memory didn't serve me well because most days I struggle to remember to brush the kids' teeth.
She looked at me incredulously. 'You have kids?' she said. 'Yeah, I know, I don't have any makeup on....bad hair day....' I replied.
I'm used to hearing that I don't look old enough to be a parent. Sometimes I don't feel old enough to be a parent. Sad thing is, age is not a pre-requisite. But still, I am 26, which is not that strange. I became a parent at 21, which was OLD in Jane Austen's day.
The Nice Lady told me that she thought I was 16. Six.teen.years.old.
I didn't really care, though I did think it was kind of funny. I've always looked the same, so at age 11 I looked old enough to buy cigarettes and at age 26 I only look old enough to see an R-rated movie.
Her comment made me think back to age 16. I did an Age Daylight Savings, if you will.
16 was a pretty great year for me (the real one I have already lived, not the 16 that I apparently look today)
Most of my teenage years were hideous and the source of 97 percent of my current nightmares. But 16 shines like a golden beacon; I was carefree (for me), had friends (even though they went on to betray me) and a job at Starbucks. Who could ask for anything more?
I think of that year, and am just downright amazed that it was a decade ago. It just doesn't seem possible that making mochas was 10 years ago. That might be because I continued to work off and on for various cafes until 2 years ago, but still. 10 years.
Last year my friend Elicia was turning 26 and feeling weird about it. She wasn't feeling old, because age is always about your perception. My daughter thinks I am OLD. But she is 4.
Anyways, E said something that I thought was very profound. I have repeated it to myself many times, and quoted her insight to friends who are feeling 'weird' about their age.
She said: (this is a paraphrase) "I don't really think that 26 is old. But I just always thought that by the time I reached 26, my life would be different."
Isn't that a great way to put it? 26 feels strange for me not because 26 is a big number, but because I don't recognize my current situtations as the ones I had picked out for myself long ago.
By 26 I was supposed to have been on Jay Leno at least once for something amazing.
I had several educational degrees and an awesome job that fulfilled me.
I had traveled the world over and had three full passports of exotic stamps.
But I haven't done those things. I have done other things that I never knew would excite me and fulfill me. I'm not trying to say that I am totally happy with the way everything in my life has gone, but I haven't been totally lazy in the last ten years either.
And little by little I try to add elements of my dreams to the real life I occupy. I'm going to London, which will fill my passport with...one! one stamp!
I'll shoot for Jay Leno by the time I'm 36, and now I know what my amazing talent is!
I don't have a degree, but I'll work on it as time and money allows.
As for an awesome job, well...what can you expect? I'm only 16.