There aren’t many options for a girl who falls in the middle. I wasn’t an athlete or a geek. I wasn’t an artist or a musician. I didn’t shake my pom-poms along with my butt. I was just a good girl who got good grades and kept her mouth shut. I didn’t date my high school sweetheart and promptly get married the second I was handed my diploma. I’m not shiny enough to attract notice, nor dark enough to be a problem. I don’t have a tragic sob story. My daddy didn’t leave us destitute, and I’m not a victim of a bad neighborhood. I am a middle-America, middle of the road, middle class girl with both parents fussing over their youngest daughter, who has no aspirations or goals. I’ve had every opportunity to succeed– supportive parents, stability, and a strong upbringing. I’m wayward, and everyone looks at me like I’m an alien. My philosophy: how should I know what I want to do with the rest of my life the day I graduate? How am I supposed to know the second I turn eighteen what I’m destined to become? One moment you’re a disillusioned seventeen-year-old with the world at your fingertips– the next? Congratulations! You’re eighteen, and you’re on your own.
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