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Time flies

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God, has it been that long?

No. Not that... Has it been that long since I left high school? Gosh people, really!

The twenty year reunion is looming. Twenty long years. Twenty amazing, tragic, funny, sad, joyful, beautiful years have passed since my high school graduation.

And while some school friends chose their outfits, booked their hair appointments and arranged babysitters 18 months ago in preparation for the big night – I positively, absolutely, categorically do not share their enthusiasm.

In fact, I would rather clean the toilet, iron three baskets of clothes, run a marathon, stick needles in my eyes, and eat dead spiders before walking into a room full of people, some of whose names I will surely have forgotten, in order to painstakingly dissect my life.

You already help me do that here.


“So your marriage ended? Why? So you’re working where? So you’re kids go to what school? So you changed your hair colour. So you’re single now? So where are you living?”

Undoubtedly there are always the insecure few who need to compare who owns what, did what, shagged whom, who has the best figure, the smartest kids, the most kids, the hottest car and the biggest bank balance post teenage angst.

Not I.

Does that make me anti-social? Is it wrong not to care for the popularity contest that sadly is the founding basis for such events?

While I have a handful of dear high school friends whom I cherish, for the most part the majority of my former classmates have fallen from my social calendar, which in turn makes comparing careers, cars and kids with virtual strangers not so appealing.

I made an appearance at the ten year reunion which provided enough spectacle to ensure my attendance at the next is not compulsory.

Heavily pregnant, unfortunately sober and weary of fake pleasantries I was afforded a flashback to the hormone-driven locker rooms of yesteryear  – girls cried in the toilets because someone didn’t speak to them; old flames tried to ignite a lost love interest; others gossiped about who got fat, who got skinny and who got Botox.

It was a night of heavy drinking and light entertainment, let’s be honest.

My attendance at the 10-year reunion is my duty done to the class of 92. I was school captain, but I’m afraid my obligation ends there.

I have moved on. But I am concerned there are some who have not.

It is nice to visit the past, but living in it is not healthy. Thanks for the memories, they are fond and plentiful, but the future is calling.


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