Crystal Lake, Vermont 1997
I'm sitting in the kitchen of a person I feel more at home with than my own roommates.
What is home? How do you know you're home? Is it just a place where you keep all of your possessions, or is it somewhere you know you belong? Because in that case why can't home be a person? These are all questions I've been asking myself as of late and I still haven't been able to answer any of them. Possibly because I don't want to know the answers.
Mistakes are something everyone makes, they're inevitable. You get in a rush to see what comes next in life and before you know it you've stumbled and spilled you're glass of Kool-aid. Oops! So how do you clean up something like that? There's no paper towels in life, no napkins, no mom to wipe up the tears. You have to be a grown up and do it all yourself. Ahh, there's the problem kids. The G-word. The one word we all hate hearing, the undeniable dirty word of adulthood. When you're a kid making a mistake is forgivable, but when you're a grown up making a mistake is something you're supposed to know better than to do. So what do you do? You own up, say you're sorry, clean it up as best as you can and walk on. Remember to keep that head up though. Can't let them see that smile faulter.
Meg
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