Truckin'

When we are children, we only have the desire to get dressed and leave. We want to play as hard and as long as we possibly can, without the care of getting messy or dirty. Once we learn what is acceptable in society (probably around the age of 8 or 9) we decide that we know what kinds of clothes are best to wear. We mix and match things with the intent of them becoming these wonderful masterpieces that end up being the clothes our mothers laugh at us for. So then we get to our teen years. These years are painful for most. We get to the point where we are awkwardly changing. Our bodies become tall and lanky, all of our clothes don’t fit, and our faces become splattered with acne. In turn, we feel that society is the determiner of our existence. It causes us to feel alone—as if not a single person can understand how we feel. We dress out of conformity: too much makeup, baggy jeans, pierced ears (or everything), and our peers influence all of our trends.

Now, in adult hood, I find that I am beginning not to care. I roll out of bed and feel like there’s never enough time to work as hard and as long as I can. I allow myself to look as rough as possible—no makeup, baggy clothes with an overall homely, expressionless face. My face has turned into another one in the crowd. Isn’t it sad? I’ve made a full circle. I was born bald; I’ll die bald. I wore diapers as a baby; I’ll wear diapers in a rest home.

All we do is live to die. But what gives me hope is that we die to live.

Keep on truckin’.