Adjustment.

I need the release that came just three hours ago. Turning corners, flying past others. This is when I feel alive now. This is when I escape all responsibility.

But this mode can only be stretched for so long without question marked eyebrows and fatigue. I work my way up to more and more of my getaway; after all, my standby is far from productive in the most literal of ways. Staring at screen. Controlling still life. Willing myself through it.

Newborn self-sufficiency is enduring a series of tiny heartbreaks. One bag doesn't seal- from perfectly fine to waste. So I settle for what's leftover and one day away from sour, already too busy with stress to enjoy the experience. I'm wound up. My muscles ache for pavement and my ears for a soft swish. This caffeine IV makes me buzz out of my skin, and I want on my feet. I want to adjust. But for now, if I can't, I want the breeze.

If only it was acceptable to crawl into mommy's lap and lull to my favorite lullaby, to clean out of joy and eat for pleasure. I've always been so anxious to grow up, ever blind to the generous hand that held me. I can't speak the language. I pine for knowledge as some sense of regularity. Academics, I know. Real life, I'm an infant.

Familiar faces keep me calm, but my stress lashes out from my tongue. There was a time when I thought you needed me, but now it seems a relative term. I can be trusted with every inch of your life; I'm not qualified to play judge. Trust is releasing the child locks and inviting me to be your passenger again.

I always thought bouncing around had readied me for it all, but now I sit exposed, admitting that even I have to adjust sometimes. My eyes will fix soon, my hands will steady. My famous lists will prevail and I'll do it all with a genuine smile. Waiting is the hardest part, but I can see the line's end. I'm fast approaching, and my head ceases pounding just at the thought.

Sit back and enjoy your guilty pleasure. There's a reason to smile even when you're completely off center.