The Pop-Tart Era of My Life

It was the Pop-Tart era of my life. My class load coupled with my work schedule resulted in a constant process of purchase-consume-purchase-consume of those nasty, over-sized crackers.  What started out as an inexcusable craving around the beginning of spring semester of my Sophomore year, turned into a helpless addiction to the undeniable convenience of price and storage capacity.  Crumbled Pop-Tarts taste just as good as whole Pop-Tarts, so into my backpack went the pretty silver wrappers bulging with the rectangular goodies in the morning, and out they came in broken heaps in the evenings.

Strawberry, brown sugar cinnamon, fudge, and one particularly poor choice of the seasonal pumpkin spice, which I bought for a buck-a-box in December.  This flavor lasted longer than it should have, until I pawned the last box on my sister's boyfriend's family who ate Pop-Tarts as habitually as I did.

A month after passing off the pumpkin flavor, I spent the night at their house.  I woke up at 8:00 AM and, having to be in Athens by 9:00 AM, ran to the door starving and late. My sister opened up the cupboards in the kitchen and threw me a silver package.  I stuffed them in my bag without missing a beat.  On the road, I pulled them out, only to discover the pumpkin Pop-Tarts which I had so skillfully disposed of.  It turned out nobody liked that flavor.

They stayed in my car as a back-up snack until the day of my wreck.  I never ate them.  Among the many things flung from the rolling vehicle that day were those horrid little tarts.  I lost CD's, notebooks, and even my glasses.  Things of value, things I needed.  But my obsession with the toaster treats stopped abruptly after that.

I found out about a month later that Wes had gone back to the crash site a few days after it had happened.  Among the wreckage of discarded pieces from my car he found those Pop-Tarts, the ones that I rejected from that day forward.  For some inexplicable reason, he ate them.  

It not only shocked me; I was instantly repulsed.  Did he not understand how weird that sounded?  I lost my vehicle, I lost my glasses. He lost his father.  Why he went back to the site, I don't know.  To feel close to Shane, maybe.  I lost so many things that day, but there was only one I was glad to be rid of.

I didn't press the issue or ask many questions. I knew in my heart that something had changed. I knew I couldn't go back from there. I knew he couldn't - that we couldn't - come back from that.

So this is 22...

Graduation is nigh.  At 22 years old (Happy Birthday to me 2 days ago) and in my fourth year of university, I just used the word “nigh” for the first time in print. I had to look up how to spell it. That pretty much sums up everything about 22 so far.

On March 16^th, I came home from work, stripped down to my t-shirt and undies and made organic whole wheat spaghetti with kale in the messy kitchenette of my tiny apartment. It felt oddly similar to March 16/16, except for this new sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff, the crowd behind me (my loving supporters) yelling “jump, jump!” I look down, still in my underwear, and think, “Like this? Shouldn’t I have some kind of harness or… pants?”

After watching 500 Days of Summer while devouring two bowls of spaghetti, I sat on my couch in the dark. There were dirty dishes, homework, laundry, and absolutely no motivation at about 7:00 or so.  I checked the cupboard. No coffee. I brewed some tea, put on She & Him (a recent Zooey obsession, I guess) and diffused lavender and peppermint oil. Finally, the homework began.

Meanwhile, my accidental best friend is still in Austria for an academy week in his internship. A Facebook message came in at 2:00 this morning wishing “Jadarrr” a Happy Birthday. Of course I woke up. I wanted to ask if he realized that the time change was 6 hours, not 2 days, but honestly I was just glad to hear from him.

There truly is no structure to 22 right now. All the elements I need are too much to hold at one time, so it’s like I’ve tossed them all in a blender. Work, homework, church. Toss ‘em. Oh, member of the opposite sex? Toss it. Two more?  No problem. New girl friends (from foreign countries)? Why not? 

Graduation; this position I’m clawing to get out of; the possibility of writing as a career. All terrifying elements to add.

Thank the Lord for coffee, Chet Atkins, essential oils, and my bed.

One of today's work jams from my favorite female singer. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, here we go... 

Where Is My Castle - Connie Smith