I will admit to some bad behavior. Not inherently evil, or illegal in any way. I mean, this is still me. I still color within the lines. I don’t shoplift, or cheat at Scrabble or anything. I live within a deplorably boring framework of morality. But damned if I don’t still feel it when things don’t turn out the way I’d hoped. Even if the hope itself was a hope against hope, it was still small, sheltered, naive…desperate to grow and become something better.

Oops, I did it again. Not a girl, not yet a woman. Just a healthy plate of the familiar-turned-contemptible. No choices. All the options I thought I had are mist. Smoke. The vaguest drizzle of a hint of more still slickens my skin. I feel it there. But it’s too late. I’ve gone into my head again.

Patterns, man. They’re a bitch. And sometimes, as a result, so am I.