Trusting that someone kept count of the days since day one. Today it might be Thursday, but how do you know that it really IS Thursday? How do you know that someone didn’t lose count, or actually did and we all went back a day?
There are a million questions I have about a million things. I am a very questionable person. People may ask me why I still watch Barbie as a 17-year-old, by myself. Because it makes me happy. It reminds me of my childhood, the days I cannot remember or get back.
I was always confused about why my birthday moves a day every year.
Has someone lost count again? Do we all need to experience every day of the week as a birthday? That’s assuming we all live to the age of seven.
Seven years of life is a long time, yet most of us can’t remember before the age of five. People say to you: You’ve grown up so fast! I mean honey, I’ve been alive for seven years, that’s a long damn time.
But all you can do is smile back at them. Because you can’t make a smart comeback at that age. It’s just not in the book.
The book is weird. When I was seven I never understood why I couldn’t chew gum until I was another year older, according to my Nanna. And why I couldn’t sit in the front seat yet, even though I basically knew how to drive.
See all these older people in your life make your decisions for you. Why?
Yes, it’s for the best, but I can put myself to bed whenever I want, I’ll know when I’m tired and when I’m hungry.
But our parents tell us when we’re younger, and get us into the pattern of, yeah, my bedtime is 9pm. Cool.
