grown-up.

when i was in elementary school, i wanted to be a fashion designer. no, writer. no, airline stewardess. no, writer. artist?

when i was in high school, i wanted to be a teacher.

no. i don't want to be a teacher.

i cannot teach your children anything you'd want their little minds to know.

i can, however, babysit them and play with them like a human puppy-dog.

you'll just have to pay me and give me permission to raid your fridge several times during the day.

i have been soaking in a tub of disgust ever since last autumn. and it feels like the water's just been getting dirtier. in college, the ways of the world of budding adulthood caught on to my address in neverland and have not stopped knocking at my door. they slowly seduced all the fairies protecting my residence into nearby rosebushes and other flower bellies while touching them in inappropriate places. the fairies must've liked it, because they've been disappearing. i noticed their nonexistence not because they were considerate enough to leave me goodbye notes informing me of their new, sexier and lovelier lives; i noticed the dwindling population of protective spirits because the knocks come more frequently now.

remember that part in the Bible that goes something like, ask and you shall receive, knock and you shall be answered? let me go track down the original verse. wait, i don't actually know the original verse because it was not written in english. all right, then. let's go with the king james version: Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. matthew 7:7.

now, i don't know exactly what Jesus meant when he said such things, but i do suspect that what he said did not really apply to my case. no matter though, i opened the door anyway. and multiple times. each time i heard that knock, i opened the damned door to doom. i suppose i could blame this all on society and environment and you @#$%ers who pressured me to be normal and standard and conformed to bland joy and ecstasy in glorious sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.

but i won't. i won't blame you, because why would i, when i should blame me? i deserve, above all others, the responsibility of turning on that rusty water faucet and lowering my naked less than desirable body into the mess of regretful lukewarmy goodness. my skin is touching the mold and mildew, melting into the water that is dirty enough not to be called water.

so, like i said, i have been soaking in a tub of disgust ever since last autumn. and though i know that many have bathed in their own filth in this rite of passage, i stare enviously the ones who have not been dunked into this tub. you know who they are. they laugh differently. their happiness has the quality of an imaginary fairy's wings. yet only you and i know these fairies to be imaginary now.

the innocents still believe in their fairies, because they still have their uncorrupted fairies. they see flowers and they think romantic chocolate kisses. we see flowers and...well. you know what you think about and i know what i think about, and i think that's detailed enough.

so i'm soaking here, and i look and what do i see?

i don't see anything.

that's the problem.