The Truth About M-L-E

So I'm 25 now, and it's incredibly odd to say that. I feel like there should be some amount of gravity with it, but it's just not there. "I'm twenty-five." Nope. Nothin'. Yesterday afternoon when I was walking home from work I realized that I'm a 10 year old boy trapped inside a 25 year old woman's body. What a preposterous combination! It's true, though. Two of my favorite people are Houston, and Jared. Houston is in the third grade, and is the son of Pam (the receptionist here,) and Jared just began pre-school and is the son of Cathy (a bus driver.) They're both in the office a lot, and both their moms always tell me that they say they think I'm "the coolest." We play spiderman and find the robot and sneak-around-the-corner and who's-the-bigger-tough-guy. I think the reason that I have a hard time connecting with people is that I have too much hesitation in just asking them if they want to play who's-the-bigger-tough-guy. That's who I am, I'm more like Satchel than Bucky, more like the Little Kitty than Etienne. Ten year-old hungrily trying to find a place in the too-big world, eager to be nice to all the other ten-year olds.

And apparently Jared's mom told him about my new job, because this morning when he came in, he marched over to my desk, looked up at me with his huge ass blue eyes, frowned, and said, "why are you leaving us?" I opened my mouth, but there weren't any words brave enough to escape.

I can hardly bear the beauty of this world!