Aug 15, 2010

I Don't Want To Grow Up


I've been sick for four days now. I'd tell you about it, but I love you too much for that. Hey, guess how many West Wing episodes I watched this weekend?

Never mind. You don't want to know. It'd be disturbing. And your opinion of me would drop off a cliff.

You'll have to be patient, you guys. I'm still learning how to blog. I don't want to give you a laundry list of my week. I did this and this and this. I brushed my teeth and then I washed my face and... I was brainwashed out of that by a english teacher, Mrs. Jackson.

(Thanks, Jackson. You're baby is really cute, by the way. I can't wait for you to be my culinary teacher. Right now we're doing worksheets in there. My teacher says we'll be doing worksheets until second quarter. When you get there, will we keep doing those worksheets?)

I hope you stick around while I figure all of this out, but I won't be offended if you don't. Mostly because I won't know. My grandma and my mom (Hi Grandma! Hi Mom!) are the only ones I know are reading this, and I'm pretty sure they'd both keep it up even if I gave you a detailed explanation of flossing.

In other news I had an emotional break down Thursday. I cried and then I went to bed and all of my tears and other bodily fluids that had made their appearance glibly slid down to my throat and chest, rendering me incapable of breathing, singing, speaking or thinking the next morning. This substantially cut down my list of usual activities. I was paralyzed emotionally, physically and intellectually all weekend. Thus the West Wing marathon.

When I can't think about the things that normally occupy my brain like piano scales, the SAT/ACT, essays and quizzes (everyone just take a minute and admire the word "quizzes." Doesn't it look cool? Hiss it under your breath. Doesn't it sound amazing?) my brain finds itself in a yellow wood, forced to take the road less traveled by. I think about what Great Balls of Fire is actually talking about, whether or not there are mermaids on Neptune (they have seas), and why my emotions occasionally make my body deteriorate into a puddle of goo. The answer (to the last question) is Peter Pan. I completely blame Peter Pan.

I have always had a thing for Peter Pan. Always. Even back when this was Peter Pan.

And then this was Peter Pan.

Then I was a believer.

There are a couple of reasons that I find Peter Pan beyond amazing. The first is he can fly. I've had dreams where I can fly. I swim through the sky. I soar across a lake, a perfect, placid lake the reflects the night sky like a mirror and I'm caught between stars. My fingers can touch them. They feel soft and cold. My fingers ripple them. Suffice it to say, if Peter came and asked me if I wanted to fly, I would have no trouble coming up with happy thoughts.

The second reason is that he is cocky. On TV, at least, cockiness is incredibly endearing to me. I think this is a really bad sign for my future relationships, but I have more pressing concerns than my (lack of a) love life right now, so this doesn't bother me a whole lot.

The third reason, and the one that I actually want to talk about today, is that Peter Pan doesn't grow up. Ever. He is forever a happy little boy who can fly around with fairies and sword fight with pirates. He never has to confront hormones--

--well, not often anyway. He never freaks out about grades or scholarships. He knows everything he needs to know. He is content. He has nothing to worry about, except the pirates that want to kill him,

and they're easily handled.

Peter Pan doesn't grow up. I don't want to grow up. I am not sure, but I think that was the core of my emotional break down this week. I am so tired of worrying about things. And it exhausts me to think of worrying for the rest of my life. I don't want to go away to school and have to remember to cook my own food and do my own laundry. I don't want to have to deal with homesickness or bills. I never want to have to think about money. And taxes? What are taxes? I have taken fairly advanced math and no one has ever taught me how to do taxes. Or budgeting. Does that mean I can't go blow it on books and Starbucks and hot chocolate? Why?

I want to go to Never Land and fight pirates and dance with fairies and eat those clouds that look like cotton candy. And Peter Pan tells me that I can.

Peter Pan is a liar. But I love him anyway.

It's the smile.



  1. Miss Marissa, You are such a talented writer. I love your blog. This last entry describes my life. It's scary to grow up and to anticipate growing up. I am moving out on Saturday and I am certainly experiencing Peter Pan syndrome myself. Even though I did everything possible to make sure I was ready there is just too much that I don't have control over. I guess that's why Heavenly Father tells us to trust him. Love ya girly!

  2. hey
    i agree, those are the reasons why i love peterpan too!
    but really... your mum and g'ma read this?
    no offense but that is a little weird
    hope you feel better soon :D
    and one more thing..
    as much as i regret saying.. wishing for better things is great but you still have to get up and face the world

  3. Hey,
    yeah, my mom and grandma are my most devoted readers, 'cuz they rock like that. Also because I don't really tell people about my blog, so generally people find their way here... or they hear about it from my mom.
    I wrote this over six months ago, so yeah, I'm feeling a lot better now--emotionally and physically :D. I'm still kind of freaked out about growing up, but now I'm excited too.
    And Tisha--I never wrote back to you some how. I know you're doing great in college. Love you muchly! I'll see you this summer!

  4. I love Peter Pan.
    So much it hurts sometimes.
    I cried for the two weeks preceding my thirteenth birthday.
    I am going to reverse aging,
    Stop at seven,
    and wait for him to come for me.
    Mind over matter.
    I'm 100% serious, too.

  5. I started crying about growing up when I was ten. I loved my life exactly the way it was. Why would I want things to change? I loved my life exactly the way it was in February when I wrote this too.

    And I love my life now.

    It still terrifies me to think of getting older sometimes. (No, seriously, what's next now? Marriage? Seriously... um, no. Freaky. I have some friends getting married, or like unto it. I'm not old enough for them to do that.) But even though it freaks me out, I'm more and more OK with it.

    But I still love Peter Pan. Watched it just last Saturday. As long as I keep him around all be OK.