So, I just did this thing where I graduated College. I graduated from something I never thought would end. I made remarks about how lucky I was that I survived four years. four years of pressure, and no rules, and commitments, and people, and hangouts, and parties, and the world collapsing at my feet. Too many nights spent wondering about boys, or girls, or playdates, or orientation. too many days worried about projects, papers, essays , and work. There were a bunch of people that thought i’d nver make it as far as I did. They were wrong. I knew that I would go away, and hopefully never live at home again. I was wrong.
Now, as of next week I’m upset with myself. I do not believe in Hell, but I do believe in my parents Couch. I don’t want to go and live at home. Not now, not ever. It’s not going to be a fun experience, and it sickens me to think about. Living with my parents is going to be tough. I really want to get out, and see more of the world. I want to get away and live somewhere, better, cooler, more inviting.
I don’t want to live with my parents. but I have to, live with my parents. I have to make it work. I’m gonna try really hard, and see what come of it.