It's a little over a third of the way through my senior year of high school. You don't even know how hard that is to realize.
My mind screams "I'm only seventeen, I'm still a kid, I can't even freaking legally operate a motor vehical unsupervised, I don't even know who I am yet, I don't know who I want to be."
I've drug my feet about college apps, but I have no idea where I want to go.
For a solid chunk of time, I was going to be an accountant.
Because, though my true passion is writing, I was told "that was not a relable career."
I had a bit of a revalation though. I am going to be putting myself in a considerable amount of debt, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be happy. So, hey, english major.
Anyhow, I'm Morgan. Teenaged nerd girl, struggling with life in an agriculturally based village in the midwest, the inhabitants of which don't understand why I don't just go to beauty school and marry a farmer, and "do hair" out of a room in my house, and have a wild pack of brats clothed in Walmart's finest who will grow up to be prejudiced and unnacepting just like most of my graduating class probably will. I am going to college. I am going to do what makes me happy. I love wearing ugly sweaters, and I have referred to my cat as "my baby" on a regular basis. Whatever. It's gotten to that point where idgaf.
I'm not that insecure little girl anymore who hides behind too much eyeliner and books and tries to change herself with makeup and clothes I hated but wore because my "friends" did.
I've decided not to let anyone make me feel bad about the choices I've made for myself.
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