I’m slipping away. I know it because I feel it as it happens. I am the hand and I am the sand.
This year I turn 20. Maybe I don't have that many expectations on me or societal norms telling me what I should have achieved or milestones I should have crossed by now, but I am so bored. I want a job I like and doesn’t make me wanna quit during every shift. I want a living space that is my own. I’m so tired of being in my parents’ house and not having any freedom apart from my box of a room. I’m tired of wincing at the sound in the breaks in my car (hey, at least I have my own car) and I’m tired of making Pinterest boards of the clothes I would wear, and the apartment I would decorate, and the traveling I would do, if only. I’m bored as hell. I feel so much bigger than whatever I’m doing now. I'm overgrown, like a weed in a tiny garden.
That’s why yesterday I asked to have my hours reduced at work. Money seems insignificant now because the sick creeps higher up my throat every time I think about my next shift, or walk into work, or when it reaches 15 and I still have 2 hours left to go of the workday. That place brought me some nice friends, a monthly paycheck, and the sweetest boyfriend, but I need to get out of there now. Or at least spend less time there.
I need to call my friends and have a lengthy talk about their lives. I’ve been texting with them and I yearn for that feeling again of meeting up with a girl and just walking around, running our errands and shopping and talking and laughing and gossiping.
I don’t want “good enough.” I want to go skiing and drink cheap hot chocolate afterwards and burn my tongue on it. I want to travel other countries with beaches and to sit on them during sunset and hike foreign mountains and forests and camp in them. I want to walk barefoot through streams and watch the sunlight being reflected by the cold, moving water.
I just can’t wait to move out of this house, and this city, and this country. But I already made up my mind about staying, so I will.
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