Jeeves, Pull Around the Car Will You?

That's me over there by the pool with a book. That's my dog resting in the yard. Those are bunnies frolicking in the grass.  And there's the cabana boy coming over to serve me a sugar-rimmed daiquiri.

Ideally, that is.

In reality, this is me with my MacBook. In bed at 9pm. Exhausted. Covered by a blanket of black fur shed by my dog. Said dog is also stepping on my Macbook in an unsuccessful attempt to make out with me. The bunny is actually a stuffed rabbit with slobbery wet fur. And the cabana boy, well, that's actually my mom, coming not to deliver a drink, but instead to deposit the shoes I've left downstairs into my messy bedroom.

Being twenty-four (going on twenty-five), living with your parents (and grandma), and having no money (debt, to be specific) is, at times, comparable to drilling a nail into one's own skull. Or so I'd imagine.

As I flip through the pages of Southern Living, peruse Pottery Barn catalogs, and virtually window shop on Etsy, I usually find myself longing for my own place to furnish, decorate, and make my home.
I find myself wanting a family of my own. A job of my own. An income of my own.

I'd be lying if I told you that the current phase I'm in is a fun one. Accumulating more debt as I attempt to become a dentist. Watching my friends enter into the world of adulthood without me. Acting as if I can actually afford a tank of gas as I nonchalantly swipe my credit card.

Facing reality is so harsh and cruel. I think I'll avoid it as much as I can.

 Thankfully, I have Colby.

She keeps me smiling regardless. And that's the only reality I need.