Insecurity Courtesy of My Subconscious

Flashback to the summer of 1994, I went to pick up the schedule for my senior year only to discover the front office had it mis-filed. It wasn’t really their fault, I had skipped my junior year and with thousands of kids in a school, how high should our expectations be? After a stressful couple of hours everything was straightened out and I was placed in the right homeroom and given appropriate senior privileges.

Ever since then, before every major milestone I am plagued with dreams of having to go back and retake my senior year.

The end of the book is in sight, just a few more chapters and I’ll be working on rewrites and edits. Naturally I am spending my nights trying to find my locker, trying to make the kids behave as I take notes, and wondering why we look so old.

When I was a little girl, I used to think that becoming an adult meant the voice in my head would change. I must have read too many coming of age novels, where the phenomenon was stark, always a before and an after. I assumed the essence would change.

Sure the voice is a little wiser, can grok bigger concepts, and has a little more patience and courage, but the old one lurks just underneath.