Growing Up Is (Surprisingly) Hard To Do

I remember when I would lie to people about being older. I was 14, and far too advanced than people my age- in some areas of life...in others, I couldn't have been more stagnant, as always. Essentially, this advancement robbed me of being young. Surprisingly, my age was never doubted- at 14 I pulled off 18 perfectly, as long as I was not asked what my day activities included. And now, that I am finally old and have a room waiting for me in the big city, that I washed a heap of laundry and picked out a few artifacts I want to bring along, suddenly, I regret that need I had as a child. In a sense, "fuck it" effectively summarizes it. Are all adults lethargic? I should know...now that I am one. Now that an 8 year old addresses me as "lady". If I am making such a big deal over turning 18...I don't even want to know what turning 20, 30...God forbid 40....

There is a ball of something stuck in my throat, and I am afraid to say, I think it might be fear.

So now that I am moving away...life is about to start. The race begins. Makes me wish I did something more with my preparation time rather than worry about silly things, people, events and aspects of life I could never change. Makes me wish I took life less seriously.

I think I am getting writer's block again. It always happens when I have a heavy stream of emotions pulsing, tingling, ravaging my insides. About two years ago, a friend of mine was getting ready to go to university. She was leaving and I still had two years left. I remember reading her post the night before she left for university, and being conscious that eventually, those same thoughts and feelings will be going through me...strong and real. I am surprised that I didn't have the "that will never happen to me" approach that most young people have. It is almost as though I stayed with that post for the last 2 years....anticipating the same thing occurring in my own life..keeping it at the back of my mind, stashed, secure, alive. And here it is. She spoke of a bride she was crossing, between her childhood and adulthood. Personally, I feel like it is a cliff of a a mountain. I'll find out eventually whether I'll have to climb, or fall into a deep, dark abyss of infomercials, softcore pornos and commercial jingles.

Packing isn't my thing. I've had to do it one too many times. It is an odd feeling, often associated with parting, sadness and not seeing some people for a long time. So I have yet to pack anything. Tomorrow I move in my things....come back home...and leave on the 29th...returning only when I need..to this disgusting hellhole, simply because my parents call it their home.

I can't write anymore. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh....