pisthelimit

The days are dragging into May and the March Hare is getting restless. I'm getting antsy because I'm waiting for tea time and it isn't coming. White breezes flit through eyelet curtains in the dining room. Breathy voices ask for cola. The kitchen sink has started dripping. I thought that being a teenager would happen when I turned thirteen. When it didn't, I assumed that I had missed a cutoff date and that It would occur on my sixteenth birthday. It has been two weeks and I can assure you that I feel no more different than when I was fifteen and when I was fourteen and when I was thirteen. Time isn't necessarily a strict progression of cause