Work on yourself first.
I was 17 when my parents first started World War III, and every day after I tirelessly tried to fix it.
13. You are finally enjoying reading books. No one is making you read them, but you do it because you want to.
“Being 27 is parallel to being a newly post-pubescent teenager; so many feels, so many conflicting emotions, so much self-inflicted pressure. At some point, it’s just easier to pray you make it to 30 in one piece and resolve to figure it out from there…”
That being a mess is endearing.
The person who’s already 50 in their own mind anyway, so whatever.
Anyone more than four years older than me still thinks I’m a kid, which has been and apparently will be true until we’re all over 50 and have kids that resent us. But I just can’t accept the idea that age defines adulthood.
This is your life — don’t waste your time doing things you don’t enjoy.
Try to stop being such a flake.
Adult life is scary. I don’t see how any of you can do it.