24 (the age, not the show)

Last night, I was thinking about past birthdays. Stream of consciousness led me quickly to the image of a photograph (unrelated to birthdays) buried somewhere in my parents' house showing me and some friends (notably, KTB, who remains one of my most favoritest people ever). We are in third grade. I am wearing a favorite outfit: lime green leggings and a bright purple Hard Rock Cafe tee shirt that is at least three sizes too big. When did I stop being nine years old? When did I get rid of those awesome leggings? When did I get to be twenty-four?

My sense of time is fragmented lately, and I can't decide what age I am. There are a lot of reasons for the confusion. Several of my coworkers play an older brother role in my life, and I am giddy to regress to cute, innocent, elementary school Anna in my relationships with them. Then, Dad is always happy to remind me that my job is beneath my education, experience, and skill level, and it is really only appropriate for teenage Anna working her first job. But when I sit alone in my room late at night, I am acutely aware that I am neither child nor adolescent, that the past several months have thrust me into adulthood. The feeling is both satisfying and surprising. I don't understand how it happened. I kind of wonder why I haven't had a crisis of faith or a psychotic break from reality. When did I develop poise, grace, faith, patience, charity, perspective? When did I grow up?

I'm pretty sure I would still wear the green leggings if I had them. *shrug*