The 15:29 Train

I mean it when I say that being an adult is not much fun, and that most days I'd rather be 15 years old again, even though at 15 I didn't have a driver's license, had no source of income besides household chores that I rarely completed when I was supposed to, hung out with less than desirable individuals, still enjoyed getting high every so often, and had a strong urge to break free from the bounds of my parents and hometown as soon as possible. But at age 15, I was still writing, took piano lessons (though I did not practice often), went to the fair with my friends in the summer and followed boys around hoping they wouldn't notice (and hoping the cops would not realize I was too young to be smoking), shopped with my mom and drove her crazy trying to convince her that my clothes weren't too "skimpy," thought about what kind of tattoo I would like to get when I turned 18, and did up my hair and make-up perfectly for when we went out on the road during driver's training.

I daydreamed a lot at that age. I couldn't wait to turn 16; then it was 18; and finally, the big "21." I had visions and dreams of so much for my life. I would leave Imlay City and go to college - an enchanted land of individuals that didn't know anything about me; men - desirable men - as far as the eye could see; friends, parties, laughter, community; oh man, the list went on and on.

After turning 19, I began hating college but knew I had to finish somewhere and do something. I had gained weight, my friends had all but turned into alcoholics, the desirable men and I never crossed paths, I didn't know what I wanted to do with myself, and my parents and I still fought occasionally.

Fast forward to age 24. I had transferred to Concordia at age 20 - and was SURE things were going to turn around and all my dreams would finally come true; graduated with a degree in graphic design and faced the realization that I was not ever meant to experience any blissful "college boyfriend" romance that lived in my daydreams, had studied abroad in Mexico and stayed with a family that simply filed us through the semester like a herd of cattle (feed them and give them a place to lay, but don't talk much to them because they can't understand anyway), was still overweight, had to come home and live with my parents because I had no job prospects in WI or anywhere else and was being kicked out of the dorms the day after graduation, and so there I was.

I remember one day I was sitting in my old bedroom at home looking out the window, and it was completely quiet. I thought, It's like I just woke up from some weird dream where I met tons of people and sat through hours and hours of instruction that I will never remember. And here I am; back at the place I was trying to get away from.

Now at age 29, I am living on my own and supporting myself. I supported myself to the extent of having to work two jobs for the last two years, which ate up every weekend and occasional evenings during the week. The second job was embarrassing and frustrating, and I began forgetting about what I wanted from life; what I had dreamt of accomplishing, and the things I enjoyed doing in my spare time.

It was more than two months ago that I finally left the second job, and now I am trying to remember what it was that I loved so much about living; forgotten hobbies, the feeling of having a crush on someone, the joy of doing something new, the urge to do more and more and never feel completely satisfied; all of these things were fresh and real at age 15. It just seems like someone else's life from centuries ago, and when I read my old diaries from those years, it is incredible what my thought process was.

I might even go as far as sharing some of those diary entries with the readers of this blog, though I have never let anyone read them, ever. Maybe that will be something for my next post. I am still getting used to this blogging thing. It usually seems a little less natural when I am writing for an audience.