Busy is a lie. People always make time for what’s important to them.
A feeling that before I’d reach age X or Y, I’d die. I’d get killed. I’d suffer some horrendous freak accident and life would end before it could continue. Because envisioning myself at an older state felt so impossible, so hard to grasp.
Wake up with alarm at 6 a.m.
Holy responsiblity, we are adults now. When did that even happen? I’m pretty sure I was just watching Lizzie McGuire and Even Stevens after a long day of middle school like two months ago, tops.