Out of reach and losing touch

I can almost see it, that dreadful day. I try not to think of it too often, even if it had settled in the pit of my growling stomach. I'm losing it. I always believed I've had my mid-life crisis too early. Does that mean I won't live past forty? As always, I'm surrounded with paperback novels if not playing a game I wanted to try out five years ago. School business pushed back far behind, now I'm wondering if I'm doing my exit right. Should I be enthusiastic? I think I lost my youthful vigor as soon as I received my first customer-service call. I'm gonna work anyway, why should I bother with academics, which, I have realized, doesn't really prepare you for anything in the real world.

I'm an adult, I say. An adult, and you better treat me like one!

I am now wearing the band around my finger again. This time on my left ring finger, as engaged women would wear it. It's a bit blotchy and needs some cleaning. Can't imagine how such a happy relationship could be riddled with the occasional simmering fights, and sometimes you forget whose fault it was. For weeks this same ring left my finger, as if doing so would clear my head out of the reminder that someone is waiting for me after I finish school. That there are plans waiting to be made, a life together waiting to be planned.

One can only get distracted from what you want in life for so long. Can I please belong to the Superclass, now?