The Adult Life?

I find myself waking up every morning around 7:30 am, getting dressed, having breakfast, and sitting in traffic with my dad on the infamous Los Angeles freeways for an hour--give or take. When I get to my internship, I file papers, clean the sink, make sure the refridgerators are all stocked with diet soda (because it's less sinful than its calorie filled counter part!...yea right) and a number of other slightly monotonous office tasks.

After eight hours of fun filled day complete with paper cuts and steam burns, I'll take the bus which will take me to the subway. Underground, I find a couple hundred people that I've crossed paths with for a few miles at 40, maybe 50 miles per hour on an underground railroad. We've all had a long day, only a quarter of us get a seat, the majority of us (I'm hopefully not included) have probably forgotten to apply some deoderant or even just skipped the whole shower and there we are, all sitting (or standing) in the flourescent lit tube that transports us back to our save haven--home.

Unfortunately, this isn't the end of the day for me. I'm still in the cacoon of adulthood. I'm making the transition from an immature child that asks Mommy and Daddy for everything to a maturing adult that is terrified of the truth that is coming hard--soon, I will have to make my own decisions, completely--100%, take care of my own problems, and the safety net...it won't be taken away, but it will be moved.

After the forty minute subway ride, I'll come back into the light, I'll escape the faint smell of urine on the subway as I escalade into the fresh air of North Hollywood. There are strange people greeting me as I depart from the moving stairs--solicitors usually, who want a signature to stop the war, or a donation to feed the hungry; if I'm lucky, I'll find a vendor where I can exchange a dollar or two for a hot dog and maybe a drink. I notice that the majority of the people there are minorities. The biggest oxymoron--and most common--of this century. As I begin to get interested in a conversation between two African-American teenagers that I've been eavsdropping on about fixed hair and stolen boyfriends, my boyfriend arrives in our burgundy Subaru--not to be called JUST a Subaru, or so we've been told.

He greets me with a kiss, asks about my day and wisks me away from the sea of sweatpants and bad shoes. We drive to school and are introduced to a completely different crowd. These are people that WANT an education. I'm baffled at the fact that people WANT to be in a place they only wanted to get away so badlly from just a summer ago. It's been a longer break from school for me, but I find myself wanted to be there too. I now feel the need for a "higher education." I diligently take notes and look over at everyone elses to see if I'm the only one that bought paper and pens to use them--no one else is taking notes.

A year ago, I would have cared about that. I would have wanted to just "fit in" with the cool crowd. Whoever that was. Now that I'm older and I suppose more mature, I realize that the life I am living is not for everyone else--it's not to impress or degrade anyone else, but to make myself proud and happy with who I am. I am the only one that knows how I feel, what my intentions are, and weather I'm being honest or not.

So I end my day at home, catching a rerun of Will & Grace on channel 5's 11 o'clock round up. I eventually fall asleep and my tv does as scheduled just minutes later only to wake up to the exact same day tomorrow.