Next, I am not a young lady.  And I’m not just saying that defensively.  It’s scientific.  I learned in my psych class that the prefrontal cortex reaches maturity at age 25.  That’s the part of your brain that deals in planning and decision-making.  Honestly, I think I felt it click, when the final piece moved into place.  I love growing older.

I love, and simultaneously hate, that I am not capable of text messaging the way that young people are.  It’s the first time that I’ve felt physically resistant to technology, although I’m trying.  As I was walking to my class this evening I saw a kid hunched over his phone in the main entrance.  I eventually figured out that he was texting, but at first glance it looked like he was attempting to cut through a piece of leather with a jack knife – his movements were sharp and violent – he was attacking his cell phone.  I can’t walk a straight line when I text.  People who text while driving scare me senseless.  I am too wordy for text messaging.  I want to go on and on forever, the way that my fingers move here, the speed that thoughts tumble out of my head.  I have too much to tell you to fit into a text message.  Text messaging is censorship.  That ship don’t sail.

I may be the only woman in her mid-twenties who delights when she looks in the mirror and finds a wrinkle here or there. I’d like, someday, to look my age. Yes, yes, I know. “You’ll be happy when you’re 35 and look like you’re 21.” I know. I know you think that. It’s okay to stop telling me, though.

Tomorrow marks my one year anniversary at my current job. I am a lover of landmarks in time and space, and this one is no exception. There have been quite a few changes since I started last year, both professionally and personally, and maybe this is a sickness but I really enjoy reflecting obsessively on those changes. I love growth.  And I love this job. One year later I can still say that. Anyway, there are some other major landmarks coming up, including the anniversary of my birth, including the one-year anniversary of the disbanding of The Art Table, which we intend to commemorate by playing a reunion show, which you probably shouldn’t miss, if you can help it.

Who invented popcorn, I wonder, or was that one of those “happy accidents”? In this day and age, one cannot freely wonder those types of things anymore without someone sighing “why don’t you Google it?” That’s what you were thinking, weren’t you? “Why don’t you Google it?” Let’s not do it, okay? Let’s not look it up, let’s just wonder. Let’s let that be enough.