Dear Adulthood.

Dear Adulthood,
               You have taken a lot from me that I never expected as a bright-eyed child, wishing I could be a grown-up, jealous of the cool things that they got to do. I realize that you and I are not fully acquainted yet, but I'm not happy with the direction that our relationship has taken. You took so much, and continue to take in ways that I don't always understand. Yet you give so little, so little of what was expected, and what I was expecting you manage to twist and distort until what I thought would be a great thing is suddenly a monster. Adulthood, I think we can still be friends if we work on our relationship a little, but first I need a few things from you.

First, I want my math skills back.
Stick = Sword
Stick + Yarn = Bow
Pinecone = Grenade
Pillow^2 + Blanket/Couch = Fort
Mud + Leaf = Pie
Just a few examples of equations that I used to be able to do and can no longer. Now the only math I can do involves numbers and letters, and endless memorization. That kind of math used to come so naturally to me that I never thought I could lose it, but you took it away and I want it back.

Second, I need you to calm down. Sometimes I wonder if you're bipolar. You'll have periods of time where you're fine, maybe a little dull but never completely still. Then as soon as I get used to being able to handle you, it's like a switch flips and suddenly you're bouncing off the walls, throwing things at me, sometimes I don't even get to see what those things are before they shatter, and I have to grab hold and hope that you settle down soon before you start breaking the things that you haven't stolen from me yet.

Third, I want Santa Claus back. I know that at first you hesitated to take him from me, and ever eager to discover the truth I offered him to you like a sacrifice, but you should have known better. I barely knew you, Adulthood, and he was important to me. I gave him to you for the promise of shining facts, and what I got was barely coal, with no promise of diamonds, not in a million years. This was not the even exchange that I had expected. With Santa gone, I sometimes find myself on the receiving end of gifts that I might want, but feel wrong accepting because now I know the true cost. What were once happy elves building toys and trinkets are now slaves, tied down by obligation, tradition, expectations. When I look closer I see that those slaves are my friends, my family. And now with your filthy truth in hand I find myself drawn to the shackles, compelled by a sense of tradition that you "kindly" left when you took Saint Nick.

I might miss these things less if you kept your promises to me, Adulthood. You told me that if we could be friends, if we got to know each other, you would give me independence, freedom, at least enough money to scrape by on my own, and enough good things to occupy myself happily that I wouldn't need those math skills anymore. If you can't reconsider your actions, we can't be friends. I know that I miss Childhood, and I'm sure Childhood misses me. I'm tired of this exclusive relationship. Why won't you let me be friends with Childhood too?

I hope you can change your ways.
-Saint Tawny