Who Could Love Being A Dental Hygienist?

I'm not one of those people who can be found browsing the internet all day.
I don't have cool articles to link, I don't find cool art making programs, I don't find quizzes or funny jokes to forward.
So at times I have nothing to post.
I am sitting here, laptop on lap, where it should be, hence the name, drinking my decaf and trying to think of a story to tell, a circumstance to render.
I don't got shit, essay.

I'm looking at a photo of my sister and her fiance, propped up against a vase on my mom's mantle. They're getting married in less than 1 year. It's all very grown up.
They have a large, decorated house, 2 nice cars, 2 small dogs, new furniture, decent jobs, and cruises for vacations. I turned 22, 2 months ago. She turned 22, 1 month ago.
It freaks me out. Is she too grown up, or am I not grown up enough? Will I ever grow up? What the fuck does it mean to grow up? To bury yourself in responsibilities of the material kind?
To settle into marriage with someone you never could seem to fully let yourself love, over time either ending in divorce (thank god!) or eventually twisting you with such a bitterness that you vomit out a little each time you speak to that person? Does it mean you should attend 4 years of college getting your business degree, or maybe a trade school, so you can have a job that "pays well and has good benefits"? Is that what's important to a grown up?
Then I'm not sure I aspire to be one.

You know, it's easy to point at all the things you don't want to be. But what about what you do want to be? It's not so easy. And it's really not so easy to be those things. I think the ultimate pointing at the things you don't want to be is to be the things you do want to be and never give a single point to the things you don't want to be. You're living it. It's obvious to every one. You aren't just paying lip service.
And I'm talking out of my ass.

Let me ask a question.....What the fuck do I know?
Let me go ahead and answer that......Shit.

My plan is to go running again today. It's 10:22 in the morning and in Houston, at the end of May, that means it's fucking hot. I am not thrilled, but I'll probably go anyway.
I just have to summon my inner masochist.
She-it.