[BGmusic: Soft Shock by Yeah Yeah Yeahs]

Quote for the day:

Oh, my weeping willow,
Let your leaves fall and return,
Oh darling, the seasons are your friend.

- Sia, Death by Chocolate

You know what I need right now? I need me some perspective. If I could, I would schedule a rendezvous with myself[/selves?] at ages 11, 13, 18, and 30.

We’d meet up at a pizza place, because, you know, everyone likes pizza. 11-13 will have pepperoni while I look on in disgust. 18 will be awed by my ability to abstain from land-animal meat. [That's all I have to impress her. But more on my underwhelmingness later.]

11 likes to break out into Andrew Lloyd Webber songs when she thinks no-one is looking. She daydreams of running away to the wilderness; of shrinking herself and riding her pet hamster James like a horse; of waking up one day with superhuman abilities; of gatecrashing teddy-bear picnics. 11 knows everything in the world yet has experienced nothing. She feels perpetually underestimated by grown-ups, and will be determined that her opinion – solicited or otherwise – be heard. She will comment on 18’s graphic t-shirt: “I don’t get it.” She will like my hair. And we, the weather-worn, will look at 11, see her self-awareness and misplaced sense of invincibility, and envy.

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