This is no Fantasy Factory

By: Grace Carroll

As I settle into 2014, I face an unsettling reality: I am an adult. Well, sort of. It’s a work in progress. But nonetheless, the new year brings with it a new set of uncertainties raining down from its silver-confetti wings. Even my dorm, the place I have come to feel most comfortable, is rife with reminders that the concrete ground I stand on is by no means stable. With neighbors moving out, and the walls of my building plastered with posters that remind me to settle my 2014-15 Housing Contract, every direction I go reminds me that I have a lot to think about.

I am thrust forward, as though stuck on a moving walkway at the airport, into a realm where it is quite easy to feel that every mundane decision I make is just another step along the conveyor belt of my future. What machine will I make? I am now assembling its base. Whose idea was it, anyway—to leave me in charge of the rest of my life, without so much as a blueprint, when I just spent my first paycheck on a Nintendo 64? By many standards I am still young, and encouraged to retain my youth. However, at what point does continuing your childhood become irresponsible? I am certain that this year will bring me closer to answering this question—even if it is just another stop along the assembly line.

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