the mold

i was on the bus when i read this article
seated next to a stranger
and before i could really contemplate the awkwardness of sobbing in front of a stranger on public transit, it was happening.
i sopped the tears up in swift-kitty-like movements.
i'll be damned if this unsuspecting man feels obligated to ask what might be wrong.

oh, where do i begin, kind sir!

this article was both everything i needed to say and my hesitation to say it.
and in the wake of my twenty-fifth birthday, the timing could not be better.

i panicked, you see.
this year is a game changer.
twenty five means a home and a family and a wedding and a budding career.
i'm twenty five and a student, and a roommate to my mother , a yogi, a budding cardio freak, a wild dream chaser and a recent stray-kitty adopter.
but that is where it ends, my mold.
and it is constantly shifting and changing, there is no doubt about that.
but it will not, i repeat not, change so much as to include those things that normally come with twenty-five.
in that respect, the panic seems like a waste of energy.
and, truthfully, it is.
but i still indulge in those feelings of panic from time to time.
i must.

because it's hard.
and i have time to ponder during my 40 minute walks.
yes, i walk 40 minutes twice per day just to sit in a lecture hall with kids.
yes, kids.
i reserve the full right to call them kids because they say things like

yeah, i like old movies. like movies from the year 2000. 

and i slump down in my chair knowing that i can recall the year 2000 with perfect clarity.

and a twenty six year old chiropractor who says "you're still young! you can totally go to
school"
(farther down i go, burning with shame that she was able to do these things much faster than i can for no apparent reason at all)

and holding a newborn baby for what seems like the fourth time that month
(farther and my ovaries cry out in protest...WHAT ABOUT US?!)

wedding invitations
(farther...)

my crows feet
(i'm on the fucking floor)

and, sometimes, the mold just really makes you think you should come back.
give up on your dreams.
and come back.
and that is where i was.
seated on the bus.
pencilled, starred and highlighted article in my hand and timidly crying next to a stranger
with bits of broken mold at my feet.
there was no place to go but forward.
so on we go.
and we hope like hell we will get there.