I want a bite

photo by: Sandy Cummings

The sky is snowing. Looks like the buildings are snowing. Terrified flakes grab onto the wind, hoping not to land onto the unfamiliar terrain of my dead end street. Not my dead end. I rent out this dead end apartment with my two sisters, my boyfriend, Scott and my sister’s boyfriend. Five people live here according to the mailman. Three according to the landlord.

This morning, Mom and I discuss my overworked schedule and fear that I will live as commonly as every other Rachel in the world. Who wants to be average? Maybe I do. I haven’t decided yet.

“Truth is, you haven't even gotten to the hardest part of life. Once you figure out, or think you've figured out, what you're doing with your life, you'll have a whole mess of new problems."

Once I no longer rent. Once I buy. Once I procreate, I will probably have the same problems I have now except I will also have other people to worry about. Little people. Who look like Scott and I. Pale, frizzy haired babies. Dilly-dallying toddlers. Acne-prone teenagers. Twenty-something drifters whom I will then turn to and say that this really isn't as bad as they think, that things will only get worst.
Enlightening. Depressing.  I can wait 40 years until retirement.

I don't want life to fly by as fast as an ice cream sundae does in front of my little sister when she orders it to share with me. If you want your own, order you own. This is my life and I want a bite. Several. I want several chocolate peanut buttery whip cream covered bites.