Things I am: Daughter. Friend. Sister. Co-worker. Graduate. However, not very good at any of those things. I thought by now I would learn how to be good at one of those, but I’m just 23. I’m still free falling. I’m still searching. I’m still hoping.
I have five new freckles that I already called the dermatologist about for an appointment. Just to make sure. My wrist pops when I shake new people’s hands. I finished all the Netflix Original Series and discovered that I like Cherry flavored pop tarts over Strawberry.
I’ll never be fit and active like my brother. I’ll never be an extrovert like he is and the rest of my family and I wonder if that bothers them. That I’m so quiet and mainly nod my head at family functions.
I spend more time searching desperately for jobs, refreshing LinkedIn, Twitter, and Monster as if I have a spasm in my fingers.
The future is a scary, scary place.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to end up in the same location and never go anywhere else in life and I think that terrifies me the most. I know it scares me the most because that’s not the place I want to be. That’s never the place I wanted to be.
Most of the time I want to pack my bags and travel through Europe. I want to work in shitty bars and kiss stupid boys and drink a bit too much. But that all will happen next year. I’m submitting a new application. I’m going to move to France and speak solely in French and be only my most pretentious self.
But for now, I’ll dream of those things. Nights on the Seine and oversexed men. Until then, it’s me and the movie Frank and my bed and ice cream. Which isn’t too bad at this moment.