Definition: A period of seven days.
And the weeks flew by.
My mom always told me that as one got older time kept on going by faster and faster. She was right.
In eighth grade the months went by in the same time as it takes for glass to shatter after slamming a door. They went by as fast as one sentence that falls out of your mouth, turning a friend into an enemy. They went by as fast as a humming birds heart.
Did you know that each animal has a set number of beats their heart will take in a lifetime? That's why stress is so bad for you- because it makes your heart go faster, decreasing your life span. A humming bird, supposedly, has the same number of set heartbeats as any average human. But a humming birds heart goes so much faster than ours- so it dies much faster.
I feel like eighth grade died as fast as a humming bird. Year-wise, that is. Even week-wise it went fairly fast. Monday's and Tuesday's were always slow, Wednesday went at an average past and Thursday and Friday sped away faster than I could catch them. Even weekends weren't as bad as usual- mainly because I spent as much time as I could away from the house.
But day by day? That was hard. Yeah, some days were fine. Some of them went by fast. But some, some of them didn't. Those were the ones where I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor thinking of ways to fix things that I couldn't fix. Or thinking about how to help others be happy. Or even thinking about whether or not I was just being selfish in my wanting to help everyone.
Those were the long days.
And yes, there were a few long weeks. Like the one where I got into a huge fight with Loren in the middle of the girls bathroom. Yeah, those weeks. The ones that you see in TV shows thinking, 'Shit like this never happens!' And then it does, and all you want to do is bang your head on a door for being so naïve. Oh, good times.
But on a whole, the weeks went by fast. Sometimes I think too fast. Sometimes I think that maybe if they didn't go so fast I would have been able to fix, or at least help fix, those things that I couldn't before. But sometimes, sometimes a little voice tells me that it was okay that I couldn't fix things. It tells me that if I fixed those things I would have kept fixing things for the rest of my life until I was on my deathbed. And only then would I have realized that screwing in the nail only cracked the wood.
Okay, this is like- the shortest chapter I'm gonna have.
Also- why am I not updating TaT?
Because I think it's horrible. Really, I do.
I have such a hard time with it that I don't even want to edit it! :gonk:
This one's better anyway. Well...not THIS chapter maybe, but on a whole...