sincerely, me

I'm not sure how this ended up in my Facebook notes instead of in this blog because it was started when I wrote it. But here it is, from March 31st, 2011. (I'm posting it here because it deals with what I've been thinking a lot about lately.) Wednesday night yesterday, I decided I was going to get to work in my French class (four weeks from the end of it) and bought index cards to do just that. It took almost two episodes of Psych of about 10 index cards, cut into fourths, but I finally had all the vocabulary words--for this week. I put them in my back pocket this morning, thinking I'd get a little studying in during the day. (I did not. I guess the proactiveness it took to make the index cards was worn out by it...) Tonight as I went to take a shower, the index cards fell out of my pocket, and into the toilet. I stood there for a full minute, contemplating reaching in there and getting them. I'd worked hard on them... Finally I reached out and pushed down the k...

This adult thing is a tricky business. We're expected to make our own lives, but not trusted to make our own decisions. We are expected to be able to answer all their questions, but when we ask questions of them, we're told the answer doesn't belong to us, and we're not allowed to ask the question. Mr. and Mrs. are formalities done away with, but there will always be the invisible Miss. We "think we know everything," but when we ask for help, when we show our ignorance, our vulnerabilities are picked on and made fun of. I don't understand what I'm supposed to do when the adults I've suddenly entered the world of, without a map, or compass, or even a watch, seem not to want me there, and deny me access to what I need to survive. Katie Costello--How Do We Know