Itches.

Sometimes, I get an itch. On my arm, or leg. And I can't stop itching it. I'll itch and itch until I bleed or bruise, or both. It's not compulsive, I just want the itch to stop. In that same sense, sometimes I just want time to stop. I want to stop growing up. I want to remember what it was like when dandelions had magic, and granted wishes. But time is aggressive. And I still get another day older, another day of my life over, and one less chance to make my life what I dream for it to be. Growing up is becoming a wedgie in the bum of life. Except I can't pick this wedgie, whether in be publicly or privately, because I can't tell my cells to just stop. I'm still going to turn another year older, have to decide on a career. Eventually become a mom.

Growing up is itchy.

Or maybe it's scary.

On the bright side I bought princess bubblebath this weekend. (: