I think I may worry for you, too. What does the future hold for a girl who rarely spare a thought for it, except to daydream of an existence that is too romantic it's a little bit impossible to exist? You always squash any thoughts of uncertainty and cautiousness-- like one would ignore a stabbing pain in the head. That may be good, I don't know, but isn't ignoring pain (and worry) a little bit dangerous? It could be a signal for something more serious, you know. I don't know, maybe like brain cancer?
There, you laughed it off, as I know you would. Why worry, you say? Why indeed? Perhaps, because you should? Haha, you say.
How often do you get into arguments about the way you handle your money. Your friends try to drill into you the value of saving up, but you roll your eyes and end up almost justifying your need to spend what little you have on trips. Money is for spending, you say, and that's all you can articulate. Because deep inside, you're a little disappointed your friends don't get it that one of most important things to you right now is the pursuit of beauty of nature and that exhilarating sense of adventure (in the same way that some things are important to them -- like saving up). That you think there is no better time to be after these things than now, when you're young and strong and relatively unencumbered of life's responsibilities-- when you can still shrug off all that comes attached with adulthood.
Try as you might, you can't shake off the acknowledgement that they are right; someday, you are going to pay for all the gallivanting that you're doing now. But true to the fashion of how you handle worries and apprehensions, you convince yourself: why then would you pay now... when you can pay later? Specially when you are sure you can take all I told you so's and swallow them whole along with the knowledge that the spanking good time you had was worth all of it.
Oh you. Want to know something funny? Sometimes I think you pretend to be you. It's a crazy statement, but it smacks of you. What I really mean is, most of the time you are an exaggerated version of yourself; but exaggeration is what exactly describes you. And you know it, although it does make your head spin.
Oh, you eccentric girl. Oh, you arrogant girl. Oh, you delightful girl. Oh, you selfish and selfless girl. Oh, you and your travel itch, and all other jumble of things and adjectives that you are-- I can't really figure you out. Which is fine by me, because that's exactly what I want myself to be: like you.