There’s a fine line between childhood and adulthood. Apparently.
I am 21 going on 35 and 21 going on 12 depending on the hour of the day you catch me. I’m walking the line. In the middle. I haven’t crossed over just yet. On the plus side, I haven’t completely resigned myself to Neverland (the fictitious location in Peter Pan, not the ranch).
I lose my balance on this tightrope more often than I should. It seems as though whenever I tip toward full-blown adulthood, I self-correct, falling back into childhood and hitting all the branches on the way down. Like that time in Target when I purposely bought things from the children’s section because they had Hello Kitty on them. Or the fact that I’m still terrified to call a store and ask for their hours, let alone go somewhere alone. I’m past the stage of needing someone to…
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