What if I was supposed to go an get a higher education and not just sit on my ass all day, doing nothing?
Lately, I've been feeling really down about myself not going to college like the rest of my friends. I thought I didn't feel anything at first, but it wasn't until I went over to Harvard last week to surprise Peter and I saw all the college kids on campus that I thought, I really could've been one of them.
I know Dad supports me no matter what I choose to do but I can't help but think he'd be much happier if I went to college and got a degree like he did. Having to explain to adults around me that I chose not to go to college and didn't just get rejected is getting a little old, especially dealing with the judgement that comes afterwards.
Because at least with getting rejected, it shows I tried to get an education.
With simply just choosing not to go, makes me look lazy.
"And now I just don't know what I'm supposed to do." I say, concluding all my worries and leaning on Peter's shoulder as I straddle him.
"Hmm." He says absent-mindedly, moving his lower body backwards and forwards slowly.
"Are you even listening to me?" I ask, sitting up properly. "Or are you seriously just trying to get hard right now?"
"Sorry." Peter sighs.
I groan. "Peter, I'm having a real life crisis right now! I'm not just saying all this shit for fun."
"I know, baby, I know." He places his hands on my waist. "I'm sorry, I should've been focusing. I think...you should do what feels right for you. Not what's right for your dad or other people. You really wanna go to college?"
I think, biting on my bottom lip. "Not really. But I feel like I have to, y'know?"
Peter uses his thumb to take my lip away from my teeth. "Don't do that angel, you'll hurt yourself. Also, you don't have to do anything. You aren't obligated to go to college, just because it's what everyone else is doing."
"But I don't just want to sit around all day, waiting for Dad to bring the money home. I wanna do something, anything, even if it's little." I say. "Wanda says I should start a clothing line, like my mom was going to do before...y'know. The only thing is, I'm not a fucking workaholic. And you need to be a workaholic if you wanna run your own business."
Peter lays down on his bed, with me still on top of him. "You like making clothes, right?"
