As women, we're supposed to savor the "seasons" of our lives, which, ironically, have more to do with what's going on in our heads than with weather or age. My teen years were one long "season" of angst. Fall started with the school year, but for me it was more "sweater season" than fall. Does this bulky knit make me look fat? And more "football season" than autumn. I'll just die if I don't have a date for homecoming. Winter was the season of holidays. Not another Christmas pageant! Even God must be bored with this. And it was the season of basketball. I'm going to the game even if I do have six hours of homework. Winter was also one, continuous frizzy-hair nightmare. I'd rather be bald! Spring signaled the school year winding down, and final exams loomed like a spectre. Somebody just shoot me, preferably before third period. Summer officially started, not with the solstice, but with the last day of school, which was also the first day of "swimsuit season." It's not bad enough that I never tan; now my white shoulders have zits. ...more

January 27, 2008

In high school, the cool crowd rules. The outcasts sit alone in the lunchroom, overlooked and certain that the world is a miserable place. ...more

January 24, 2008