Personal Writing

A professor of mine told me that I have an adolescent brain. “Not to insult you or anything,” she’d said. “It’s just that at twenty-two, your brain is still developing.” It’s the thought that I’m almost done that powers me through my days lately—my days at a shitty job designed for adolescents, the kind of job that teenagers work because they don’t know any better. Because they don’t expect to be treated like human beings yet, are used to being shit on all day, every day. But, like…I went...