Hold On To Your Hormones!

This week's issue of Time Magazine has a cover story on "Being 13." I'm here to say, save your money, I can tell you everything you need to know about living with, and formerly being, a 13-year old girl.

To put it bluntly, it's like going to hell in a handbasket with your eyes closed. It's wanting to know about sex, not even knowing what to ask, but figuring that if you listen long enough and closely enough, one of your friends will say something about it that you'll actually understand.

Being 13 means you are the sun and everything revolves around you. Not because you're selfish, although you are, but mostly because of the raging tidal wave of hormones that ebb and flow as you klutz through your day.

It's feeling pretty one moment and ugly and fat the next. It's knowing who you should be friends with but secretly wanting to hang out with the popular kids because, well, duh, they're popular!

It's reading fashion magazines with a hunger normally reserved for steamy novels. It's being excited, terrified, angry, depressed and ecstatic all within the same hour.

It's wearing things that don't look good on you, simply because everyone else is or, better yet, because no one else is and you'll be the first. Bonus!

It's going to movies to be scared or sad and enjoying every moment of it, only if you're with friends.

It's hating to be around your parents, but needing to because, well, they have money in their wallets.

It's wanting to be smart, but not having any clue how to show it. It's feeling passionate about everything and having no idea why.

It's having opinions that you share loudly, especially if they conflict with those of your parents.

It's wondering why God chose you to have zits and be chubby, while your friends are skinny with china doll complexions.

It's needing to be alone, and always being bored. It's wanting attention and hoping you won't be noticed.

It's liking boys and showing it in really strange ways. It's thinking that nobody will ever find you attractive but praying that you're wrong.

It's the end of the world and the beginning, all rolled into every day.

It's needing your mom around, while constantly pushing her away.

It's praying that one day, all of this will make sense.