I turn 21.

Is it too much to hope for that in three months, I will

-be in school
-have a place to live
-have a job

And is it too much to ask that in three months I’ll finally be over this part of my life where I keep making the same mistakes? At least for a little while? I’d like time to make new and different mistakes instead. Like, rather than further fucking up my finances and/or grades and/or relationships, could I maybe just leave my cupcakes in the oven for too long? Or buy two bottles of shampoo when I meant to buy one shampoo and one conditioner? Or dial one name up than the name I meant to dial in my address book, and talk to Katie G. instead of Katie L.?

Dear Punkin, here’s what you’ve probably known about me all along: I’m not good at being an adult. I’m not good at practical matters, though I hope you know I try to be, am trying to be. Better.

Dear Punkin, I really don’t know where I’ll be in three months. I have few, but very strong hopes. One is that I will write more often and more honestly. The other is that I will have learned to let some things go. The last I can share with you here is the hope I’ll be on my way to recognizing myself again. It’s been far too long.