… as being this time of settling into wisdom and really coming into myself and becoming comfortable with this crazy thing we call life and getting to carve out time to be better and feel better and do better. But adulthood has been nothing but nonstop, exhausting insanity, like some fucked-up round of Whack-a-Mole that never ends, where the little dudes are not only popping up but popping up in flames that spread and the faster I thwack them, the more they spit fire at me.
Or like opening a vein temporarily that just ends up bulging and pushing and pushing and pushing because the needle is never satisfied and, oh, what is your other arm doing, because we’re going to need to use that one too.
It sucks. God, it sucks. And I am bad at it. And I want to stop doing it. Can I opt out?