13 ((ways of looking at a blackbird))

On Saturday, I didn't just buy a new fluffy pet. I became 13 again.

It's now Monday and I still can't help but smile when thinking about the past weekend. I think many twenty-somethings take life too seriously, and you might be thinking, Really? What about the ones that drink themselves into a stupor every weekend? What about the non-intellects sitting in classrooms, doodling on their essays and worksheets? Those people don't take life too seriously.

Well. I could agree with you and make this whole blog super agreeable, but I think I'll beg to differ this time. I'm going to argue that no, those people may not be super intellectual, but I don't think they are being childish, either. What kind of child drinks herself into a stupor on the weekends?

I was 13 again on Saturday and it was a nice change. When I was actually 13, I hated it. I hated being at that weird age; it was the age of puberty and hormones and heartbreaking crushes and pigtails. It was the age of pining and always being right and realizing that maybe my mom can't help me with all of my problems.

It was an age of transition. It was an age of ups and downs and plenty of semi-friendships and semi-boyfriends.

That's not the 13 I'm talking about, though. No, on Saturday night, the girls and I broke out the hemp and beads. We sat on my bedroom floor, giggling over 80's and 90's music videos on YouTube, trying and failing to make bracelets and necklaces for each other. Mary dyed her hair a dark red over my sink while I scooped large quantities of ice cream into bowls. I doused the ice cream with sprinkles and M&M's and Shell. It was a little slice of Heaven.

The boys across from us were having a party and the bass of their music thumped our floor. And I didn't want to be any one of those drunken college students. I was content with the coloring books that Mary had brought over, and I was content with the hemp and Vanilla Ice on the laptop.

I was 13, and for once in my life, I missed being that young and naive. I missed that awful, awkward age of braces and half-hearted arguments and notes that were passed in the shape of a football.

And so it goes.