“I’m too busy” to clean the house. “I don’t have time” to respond to calls and e-mails from friends whose lives have led them down paths very different from that of my own. “I’m too busy” to call my birth-father, who is probably going to die soon thanks to a life-long drug addiction. I’ve got “too much going on” to be bothered with visiting my ex-step-sister and her new baby. And, I just “haven’t gotten around to” responding to that heart-breaking letter from my “madre tica,” informing me that her son, who I once cared deeply for, has inoperable brain tumors and that the family is struggling to pay medical bills and make ends meet.
It’s time for me to be honest with myself.
Yes, I am a “busy” person. I work like a dog. My commute is two-hours each way. When I’m not working a paid job, I do volunteer work. Next, I’ll be applying to grad school.
Is it possible that I keep myself “busy” so I have an excuse to ignore the things I can’t (or don’t want) to deal with? I seem to find time for kayaking trips, boozing-it-up with my neighbors, relaxing poolside with my parents, writing a blog, etc.
Maybe I put off cleaning the house, because there are 3,000 things I’d rather be doing. Maybe I don’t get in-touch with old friends because I’m not ready to acknowledge the fact that we’ve grown apart. Maybe I don’t call the ex-step-sis because it makes me sick to think that she is stupid enough to get pregnant by a jailbird junkie and uncaring enough to do dope throughout the pregnancy. And, maybe I don’t call my birth-father, because I can’t speak to him with out wanting to cry for all the fucked-up things he did to me as a child. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t respond to the letter from “mi madre tica” because I’m terrified. I’m afraid the letter is a lie and I am being conned. I’m afraid that I’m a horrible person for doubting. And, I’m most afraid that the letter speaks the truth and I can’t do anything about it.
So, there it is. The truth.
Now, I know some of my “more mature” friends may be thinking, “I’d kill to be 25 again,” but I bet that’s because they’ve forgotten how bad it sucks.
Over the past three years, I have gone from size 3/4 to size 7+ and I can’t seem to accept the change. I own just one pair of jeans, because every time I go shopping, I inevitably pull a bunch of size 5 jeans off the rack and take them into the dressing room, only to find that I can’t pull them up over my hips. I swear my hips are four inches wider than before. And, let’s not even get started on how much my ass has grown….
I like to blame the changes my body has experienced, on the sedentary lifestyle that comes with having a 9 to 5 job. Eight hours a day, I sit on my ever-widening ass and stare at the computer screen. Just two years ago, I was traveling Latin America, making fast cash slingin’ cocktails and dancing til’ dawn any night of the week...ah, the good old days! I thought by 26, I’ d be living in some exotic land, fighting to end poverty, saving trees or something else equally noble. Maybe by 30…..
Getting wider, and squishier. (Probably a little uglier too....)
Now look what's happened at 25:
Some of my friends have asserted that my inflated ass and newly-ample hips are my body’s way of telling me I’m ready to have children. Well body, listen up! I am in no way shape or form interested. And, friends and colleagues should take note that it’s not that I’m “not ready” because I’m still too young, so please stop saying that. You may call me selfish, but I choose higher education, a meaningful career and world travel over spitting out babies any day of the week.
At 25, you’re too old for lining your walls with fliers and posters and drinking until you puke. You’re too old for stretch jeans and super-thin, clingy shirts. You’re expected to save for retirement and pay all your bills on time.
At 25, your coworkers say things like “what you like twelve?” and “good night KIDO.” And, your friends say, “Oh, you wouldn’t remember that” and “you were born in the 80s?!?” AND, your family starts questioning you about when you’ll be tying the knot and having a family of your own.
At 25, life is full of contradictions.