I believe that being an adult is an extremely hard task. It's a lot worse than university exams, because there is no preparation. No one tells you that one day, towards your twenties, everyone will expect you to be different. To be an adult. With responsibilities such as bills and mortgages and decisions to take. There is only another thing harder than being an adult: being a single adult.
I know that I shouldn't say it. I have read a sufficient number of deceiving girly magazines to understand that, as a woman in the nineties, i should be, by definition, perfectly at ease with myself, completely indipendent; autonomous in every sphere of life, even in carpentry work; satisfied by my career and never short on doe; capable of tackling criticism; always please to better my spiritual growth.
It's all a load of crap. In the last six months I have felt like the fat kid that no one wants on their group. Or, if I got into the group, the men I met made me want to run, as fast as I could, in the opposite direction. It shouldn't be important but it is. Because since you're the age of two you know that playing alone is stupid. It doesn't work. It's boring.
from the book "" by Josie Lloyd
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