It seems so strange, being an adult. I keep forgetting my own age, as if somehow, my mind stopped counting at twenty. "Twenty-two? Hang on a sec... Wait... No, I'm almost twenty-four... that can't be right." I wonder why that is? Am I afraid of growing old? (at twenty-four? How ridiculous!) Or is it more that I'm afraid of what it means to be a grown-up: to let cynicism gel in me like aspic in a mold. To have the daily grind of scheduled life mean more than the unexpected and the strange.....
If you can't tell, feeling introspective. Off to shower and dress and eat, then off to target for some vaguely necessary things. But I must be careful; we need to let this tax return last us until I'm gainfully employed.
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