Peter Pan along with the rest of his indignant lost boys' high pitch squealing of "Never wanting to grow up" has been ringing through my head all day. Granted, I'm only a 21-year-old individual. But lately, I have felt much older. Especially when these arrive to my house.
It's quite deceptive, ya know, this whole mail thing.
I skip down my slope driveway of my beautiful new house to see what delights the mailman has left for me. My eyes widen as I see the plethora of lovely envelopes all waiting to be
opened.My heart quickens. Then realization strikes its deadly right hook, and suddenly, the mail isn't so pretty anymore.
I sigh. A big, long, can-I-stick-this-back-in-and-pretend-I-didn't-get-it kind of sigh.It used to be that when something arrived in the mail marked "Jena M. Carper," it was a letter from a friend, a brochure to some school I need to attend, maybe a magazine or two.
Now, it's bills.
I think Peter Pan might have thought one day that growing up was a good thing, maybe even a great thing. He probably had some crazy awesome ambitions, places he wanted to see, careers he wanted to pursue. And then he saw what OG&E charges for an electricity deposit,
and well, the rest is NeverLand history.