I guess it should come as no surprise to me that part of being an adult is fighting.
Not kid, play fighting. Big scary adult fighting. They still knock the breath from me. The worst part for me is that I am a crier. I can’t have a fight without being reduced to a screaming, blubbering mess. It’s embarrassing.
Part of the problem with growing up, I think, is how much less acceptable it becomes to throw a tantrum. I mean, imagine me, 23 year old girl, steaming and banging my fists in the confectionary isle.
So sometimes, as an act of rebellion (and completely not because I am an uncontrolled crier) I let fly. Even if it is just in the confines of my own home.
This is Julia, trying and often failing at being grown up.