Thursday, December 22, 2011

One Confession

Technically, two confessions. The first confession is that I wouldn't have the faintest idea what sort of images sum up my life if you painted them on my eyeglasses.

The second, more relevant confession: I'm not actually very good at being a grown-up. I can muddle through, more or less; I can hold a steady job, and for eight hours or so a day I can do very good at it. But things that seem to come easily to other adults, living an organized and sensible life and being...y'know, grown up...to me, it feels like spinning plates. While I'm over in one area keeping the plate that says "eating healthy" spinning, the one that says "remembering to pay all the bills" starts wobbling. When I dash back over and give that one another spin, the "house-cleaning" one is about ready to fall onto the floor. The whole thing does not feel intuitive to me, it exhausts me, and I frequently need to retreat into goofiness and silly things just to keep from frying my immature brain.

So if you're someone who I'm in a family with...I am sorry. I try, as best I can, but I know I'm not good at this. I hope I don't ever hit you with any of those plates.

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