Sorry, that I'm Alive

...I lie down on the floor and stare at the ceiling. I'm not sixteen anymore, and it makes me strangely choked with tears. I am an adult. An adult who doesn't know the difference between a water meter and a gas meter. An adult who doesn't know how to file a tax return or fill out a yellow check. An adult who can't say no. Adult, adult, adult. The more I repeat it, the less sense it makes. I'm sorry, but can't you take it all back?