“Every heart is a package tangled up in knots someone else tied”

–From “Kathleen”, by Josh Ritter

This Thursday, my grandmother is coming to pick up my sister to take to her house for an indefinite period of time..I am working 40 hours a week, I have piano lessons Saturday morning, and I start my summer class a week from tomorrow..If I were to drive up, I would get to spend less than a day there..(My brother isn’t going because he’ll be leaving for baseball camp Saturday morning).

I’m pretty disgusted with this thing called “growing up”.  Being an “adult”.  Having a “job”.  At this point in my life, it’s all transitional; none of it’s really real.  I’ve apparently outgrown being a kid and having long, lazy summer days and a week with my grandmother, but it’s not like I’m doing my career (when I am, let me add, I will have the summers off).  And it’s not like I’m living by myself.  I’ve got two years of accumulated dorm stuff piled in a little room that was already full that I have to sort through and try to make into a livable situation.  The main reason I’m writing this is to put off cleaning my bedroom a little longer.  How’s that for juvenile?  I’ve already read an entire book sitting on the screened-in back porch today.

I’m nineteen years old (for just another month from today).  I should be laying out on a beach somewhere (wearing my SPF 55, of course).  The only good thing I can see about this transitional time is that I can still plan and execute frivolous little excursions and side-trips with my friends, like that Josh Turner concert and the trip to Asheville we’re plotting for the end of July..

Whatever.  I’m having the time of my life, and I know it.  Or I keep telling myself that, anyway.  Just not in the greatest of moods, and felt like venting a little.  Don’t fret, I’ll get over it once my room is clean..And I’ll probably crash the party at Memaw’s this weekend..Or I might just embrace the rare opportunity to be the only child..

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