Sometimes I look around our cramped townhouse, our boxes of things and stuff and crap piled everywhere, our animals bound to such a small playground, no room for growth or improvement, and I dream about the day I’ll be the grown up I always expected to be. The woman with a home and a yard, a neighborhood full of friendly neighbors and a classroom full of doting students. A husband with a prosperous job that allows us to afford the amenities of life I grew up loving.

And then I snap out of it, and realize that I’m not that grown up yet.

We have a long way to go, and that is so goddamned frustrating when everyone around us has already achieved these dreamy, hazy goals.

It’s enough to make me grit my teeth and curse the day I decided to go for my MA instead of my PhD.