� Eight years � 2006-04-02 � 4:53 p.m. �
Who were you eight years ago? What did you think? How did you feel and where did you think you would be today? Are you there? Do you have what you wanted?
Where will you be in eight more years.
I'm not the same girl. Eighteen was scary for me. I hated myself. I hated waking up. Breathing. Laughing. I didn't know love beyond my family. Eight years ago I thought I would go to school and become a journalist or a photographer... live in Toronto and make a new start... that by twenty-five, I'd maybe have my own apartment, my own car... and I may or may not be juggling my black book of boys. I wasn't going to settle and I wasn't going to leave the GTA. I was born to explore... and with all my spare change... and maybe with my work, I'd travel when I could, but home would always be that small apartment somewhere off a busy street.
Yeah that train stopped quickly, didn't it? I learned fast that there is no money in either career... and I wasn't going to starve myself while building a career I only of sort of enjoyed to begin with. I can't conform to rules... and at 18 I began to see that I was pressing myself in my own vice.
I had dreams too... they were just the wrong ones... and I know now that what I got instead is better.
I'm through guessing what the years will bring, but if I can hope... I hope for calm but chaotic... and happy. Diapers and storybooks and first grade meet-the-teacher evenings...
Only time will tell...
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