Here's a meloncholy post for an overcast Sunday.
Who took my carefree days? When I slept until 11, loafed in my pajama for another few hours, ate dry cereal because I ran out of milk, and then when out to get a few beers with some friends. When I didn't worry at all. When I really believed and lived the stuff in those self-help books that said no matter what your circumstances, you have the choice to be happy or not, choose happy. When I felt like life was as vast as the ocean that I went to visit at least once a week. When I didn't worry about what I'd be when I grew up because that day was so far in the future I couldn't even see it with binoculars.
Who took them? I guess that would be me. The me that worries too much and sleeps too little. The me that never runs out of milk. The me that doesn't see so much choice in her emotions any longer. The me that hasn't been swimming all summer and feels much too much too grown up.