I have this odd obsession with time.
I think it's a control issue -- because time is intangible and constantly running, I am a fanatic about keeping track of it -- to an embarrassing degree.
Oh yes, I'm the girl who slashes each and every day in her planner as they end. And I'll admit that before I went out for Halloween, I had to flip my calendars (I am too cool, I know).
Most of this obsessing, however, seems to occur in the short-run, daily scheme of things. Until the COD was posted for next Spring -- my FOURTH semester.
I'm hitting the halfway mark, the midpoint, the 50-yard line if you will.
And as of late, I have spiraled into what one only can appropriately term a "mid-college" life crisis.
This is not an, "I-can't-believe-in-four-years-I -might -be-sitting-in-a-windowless-cubicle -slaving-away-for-a-menial-salary-that-completely-devalues-my-entire-University-education" type of dilemma.
I'm not mulling over choosing a major or fearing the inevitably approaching "real world." Besides, I'm not a fourth year submerged in the ridiculously stressful process of resumes and interviews. (Shouldn't you get to enjoy your last year in the University bubble? It seems counterintuitive.)
Rather, again finagling my way into having no Friday classes (forget living on the Lawn, we all know the true "ultimate University accomplishment") has just made me realize how quickly time a) is flying, b) has flown and c) will fly.
In general, I just feel old.
I look at my brother, (only four years younger and yet seemingly from a completely separate generation in the way he conducts his personal relationships almost entirely on AIM,) let alone my four-year-old cousin and all of his technologically-advanced toys, and I realize my "childhood era" has ended.
I have "grown up" and time just keeps doing its own thing.
Don't you sometimes feel like you were just in second grade, playing "Heads Up, 7-Up" on substitute days and hunting buffalo until you could no longer barter for bullets with the quinine little Jimmy desperately needed on the Oregon Trail? Remember slap bracelets and rolled jean shorts, Doogie Howser and Jonathan Brandis? To think, a CD player once cost hundreds of dollars, and I spent hours last Christmas Break transferring my parents' obsolete Beta videos to VHS. Fun times.
(As a side note, I recently have been informed that the first and second season of Saved by the Bell will soon be released on special DVDs. I, for one, can hardly contain my excitement to see the special features. Mr. Morris was, after all, the original "Preppy.")
I mean, we're talking late 80s/early 90s here. So yes, I suppose technically we are members of a different age bracket. New decade equals a new generation. So how long will it be before the "90s" party theme hits the Rugby Road date function scene?
Does it not freak you out to think that "Harry Potter" is our "Goosebumps," "Bob the Builder" our "Mr. Rogers," The O.C. our 90210? From this perspective, life appears simply a series of replacements over the ambiguous spectrum of time.
And it seems as if thus far, that's the pattern our lives have followed. High school replaces grade school, college replaces high school and the working world replaces college
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