It’s always nice to go back to Baltimore for the weekend, to have the niceties of home like free laundry and delicious food. My bed here is 2x the bed at school, and 10x as soft. But it’s also nice to know I have a car and a five hour drive to get me back to some semblance of independence, not being hawked for what I do.
The difficult thing is this: parents always want to shield you from mistakes. They look at your life with this sort of ‘I-can-see-the-future” power granted only to those who have had children, and tell you that the biggest dream you’re working towards is not going to work out so “why don’t you just wait.”
I don’t know whether to be mad or not, I vaguely knew that my parents would react this way: feign some sort of surprise and excitement and then in the wake of the novelty of it, try to talk me out of it. It’s unfortunate, because it’s something they should be happy about; and it’s almost worse to see them play the happy role before reverting back to, “what’s the rush?”
And I completely understand the question what’s the rush, it’s the most cliche question when your son or daughter presents the idea. But to not understand when they in turn reply, “There is no rush, but this is when I am going to do it,” I don’t understand.
Well, that’s enough soap opera drama for one entry. I meant to do a photographic representation of my day, but it was cold and rainy and gross and I don’t want to take pictures of grey skies.
So instead I leave you with this, found from the weekly feed of Postsecret
That sort of killed me emotionally; it’s deserving of a poem but I have to go get some bagels before I decide when to leave Baltimore.
