I want my mommy. Yes, I'm less than two months away from my 21st birthday, I've been living away from my parents for nearly three years, and I've actually started to refer to myself as a woman instead of a girl, but none of that matters. I'm sick and miserable and I want someone to take care of me.
Yesterday when I had a fever, I didn't have anyone to put a cool hand on my forehead and bring me Advil and ice water. There was no one here to rub my neck and make it stop aching, no one to cook me pudding or soup or get me popsicles and chocolate milkshakes. And today was the same thing - hours of lying in bed feeling miserable with no one to whine to and no one to distract me from my miserableness.
This afternoon I took a nap and when I woke up from my ridiculous dream/hallucination about being a Viking (the kind with swords and cooking over fires, not the Minnesota kind), there was no one here to reassure me I'm not crazy. Most of the time I like living alone, because most of the time I'm too busy to keep track of my own schedule, let alone a roommate's. But right now, even a kitten would make me feel less like I'm slowly dying with no one here to notice or care.
You know what, if this is what it's like being grown up, I want to be four again.
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