Saturday, January 29, 2011
When you leave
Dear Almost Seventeen Year Old Daughter,
When you leave, do me a favor and take all your crap. You know, the clothes all over the floor, the monthly emotional baggage, the snow globes, the piles of books and papers. Pack them in big boxes and put them in a U-Haul because I'm not taking you to college.
Not me. I'm not even going to say goodbye because it's good riddance to all that crap, you know? So don't expect me to cry or hug you too long. Don't expect this next year and a half to be an easy ride. NOPE. Don't expect you'll get everything you want at the first hint of an unhappy sigh. Don't wait for me to sneak into your room after you go to sleep and expect to find me curled up next to you with my face in your hair, breathing you in.
Nope. Don't expect that.
Don't wait for me to make you any baked goods late at night, don't expect me to buy you everything you want at the grocery store. Especially that expensive POM (pomegranate juice)
What? It's in the fridge? Huh? No, you must be fooling yourself because I am definitely not going to fall into a million shards of glass when you go. I'll be busy. Doing.....
Go away already.
Where'd you go?