(untitled 127)

Lavish just pointed out to me that "we're all growing up." I think I've realized that for a while subconsciously, but it's still a little strange to have it pointed out to me like that. I just turned 24 this last Saturday, which isn't all that old, I know, but it does mean that I'm moving along in life. I'll be out of school (well, college) in a few months. I'll be looking for a job soon. I'll probably end up in a high school teaching 15 year-olds about US history and why the sinking of the Lusitania may have been a British conspiracy, after all.

Student teaching has been particularly eye-opening in this respect. It's easy to forget how old you are when you associate primarily with people your own age. When you start to spend your days with high school sophomores, you realize what an age gap there really is. (I can only imagine how this is going to feel to me when I'm 40.) It's just a strange feeling to be perceived as an "old" person now. I wear a shirt and tie every day to school. Isn't that something adults do? Can't I just wear a nice polo shirt and call it even? And what happened to my first name? Losing my first name places me squarely in the adult camp.

It's not all bad, of course. I'd much prefer to be an adult than to be 15 again. I don't mind taking responsibility all that much, but the sense of my upcoming loss of freedom does get to me a little. I'm already working 13 hours a day with the jobs I have. I imagine myself living on my own, doing nothing but grading papers and watching SportsCenter with a single tear running down my cheek, looking back wistfully on the days when I had friends who would come over and watch Scrubs with me or play games. I'm really not ready to move away from here just yet, and I'm terrified that's what my future is going to bring me.

Wow, these last few posts have been pretty dark. I'll write something happy and upbeat next time, I promise.