Mature adult? Me? Neeeeh

I've come to the conclusion that, in many ways, I'm still the exact same person that I was when I was about five years old. Granted, there are some external changes, such as the fact that I now drink coffee and wear a bra, but the internal stuff is pretty much the same.

When I went to the bathroom last night (I'd had to glasses of soda the size of my head before going to bed. Yet another thing that hasn't changed much since was little. And now that my mother isn't here to keep it in check, it runs rampant on occasion), and in order to get back to my room, I had to walk through a very dark kitchen, then a very dark hallway and up the winding stairs. Which, of course, were also very dark. The whole way, I pretended that there were ghosts and goblins creeping up behind me or hiding in the shadows in front of me. Then, when I got to bed, I spent a few minutes to make believe that there was a monster underneath it.

One major change has taken place, though: I no longer manage to convince mysef that these things are true. I don't need to pick up my cellphone and call my mum at three a.m, and have her come and rearrange objects in my room, so that the shadows don't look scary anymore.


I can do that all by myself, thank you very much.