Scary, eh? Terrifying.

I used to enjoy trying to figure people out, growing up.

But back then everything was one-dimensional, I realize now.

There were no real choices being made back then. Well, they were being made, they just didn't have a way to be expressed.

No, the rubber hadn't meet the road yet. We hadn't had a chance to make the calls yet.

We couldn't truly take on who we were yet and own our own decisions about life.

Up to this point, the decisions in our lives had been superficial for the most part. But inside we were growing and becoming someone, someone who was going to be us for the rest of our lives.

Scary, eh? Terrifying.

And then - it is unavoidable - the rubber hits the road. And we are who we are. All pretenses fall away. You can't run, and you can't hide.

It is paradoxical. All those years when you weren't calling the shots for yourself suddenly count. They counted all along, and now they are expressed. Where your heart has been all along is revealed.

You can't start creating who you are tomorrow - that process started yesterday.

Scary, eh? Terrifying.

Jiffy

I am not quite sure how it happens.

You do the little word verification thing (to assure the world of your non-automated-computer nature).

Or attempt to do. I mean, really. Half of the time the word, or words, to type in for "verification" are smeared like too little butter over too much bread - and then the bottom half of the word has been whacked off.

So, after a five-minute interlude of clicking the "New Word" Button, you finally correctly type in "wyoming up."

And then you are sent to (the fudge-making room, Augustus Gloop!) a page which informs you that you will receive an email shortly to confirm (for the eleventy-first time) whatever is left to be confirmed.

And this is where it gets sketchy.

The designation as the time-frame as "shortly" is rather an understatement. How about so instantaneous that we sent it to you before you even finished the "p" in "up." We knew that you didn't know that we knew that you knew that you wanted to click "confirm" before you even knew the "confirm" button existed.

What about: "You will receive an email in a jiffy, as in 1/60 of a second."

Seriously, people. I get the email before my mouse click is more than half-way down. I get the email quicker that the Roadrunner (beep, beep) escapes Wile E. Coyote. It is like white on rice. Zipadee doo dah.

Like I said, I am not quite sure how it happens. But it sure blows my mind.

Jafemaapmajujuau

The fall is approaching again.
[Fall as in autumn, that is, though, I don't doubt that there is also another fall approaching for me, too, eventually.]

I thought it was just here. Weren't we just all eating turkey and buttoning our - well - light-weight sweaters on?

Mhhmmm... exactly. Uh huh. It was just here.

The Powers That Be in regards to calendar keeping are getting a little sloppy. Someone should write them a letter telling them that we are catching on. The populace is wising up to their antics.

And we won't stand for it. Not for a moment.

I refuse to have my Januaryfebruarymarchaprilmayjunejulyaugust ripped off and condensed [imagine: Jafemaapmajujuau], just to arrive at Septemberoctobernovemberdecember a little faster. [Though, I must admit that I am partial to the fall months. But nevertheless I shall not allow this injustice to continue, regardless of my internal emotions, feelings, Cheerios, etc.]

So.

I thought and thought and thought and thought and thought about it, what to do to combat this ridiculous plot to forever skew time for the all peoples of the world.

I tried to write a letter, but the Post Office doesn't know where The Powers That Be (Time Keeper Ones) live either. I contacted Google Calendar, but I think [actually I know!] they are in cahoots with The Powers That Be.

And - at last - I decided that we will have to get used to the sound of Jafemaapmajujuau.

a six year-old's masterpiece.

Don't worry.

They come off easily, those seven different color nail polishes smeared onto my toes.

She had a blast doing it. [and that is all that matters]

She would try to wipe off the excess on the edges only to wipe off the majority of polish on the nail also.

And then she would repaint the nail.

And then she would wipe the edges - and half of the nail.

And then she would repaint the nail.

[repeat indefinitely until a six year-old's patience or the nail polish runs out]

She would pull a color out of the box and make sure it she hadn't used it before. [the more the merrier, of course]

Then on it would go.

Yellow, pink, white, purple, red, orange, and clear with glitter. [Kaleidoscopic.]

It was beautiful. Smeared, patchy, and Bohemian.

because life is worth more when certain things are worthless

It doesn't matter. I promise. And I am glad it doesn't.

Life would be a drag - a string of pointlessness - if it did.

I would be tired, and so would you, if things like this counted.
There would be more striving and strife.
And more heartbreak and heart attacks.
And more back-stabbing and back-sliding.

The world would be exhausted and yet would keep surging onward.

It wearies me to consider it. And makes me yawn and shiver.

If every little earthly thing was of great import.
If every man-made accolade truly meant something.
If a creation by the created to the created really counted.
What a tiring place this would be.

How young we would all die. And how quickly our fame would die, too.