When I was nineteen I was a bit of mess. It was a year of firsts – some good, some terrible. My nineteenth birthday was my first without a mom. At nineteen, I moved into my very first apartment, paid for by me alone. I loved that apartment and my milk crate furniture. I bought my first car at nineteen – a white Ford Escort hatchback. My love for the car was short lived. At nineteen, I earned my first college degree. I had my first serious boyfriend. I fell in love for first time. I had my heart broken for the first time. To steal a line from Dickens (which is on my mind since Tamara’s Books of My Life post), “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Continue reading Not in My Wildest Nineteen Year Old Dreams →