paint the past whatever sweeping shade of rose you'd like
Everything is perfect/ly ordinary lately. Someday I will look back and accept that it's time to grow up but does it have to be now, can't I have a few more years of perfectly terrible mistakes and ridiculous decisions, I am already tired of being an adult and have played at it for less than a year. I know, I know, the timing is wrong, but when wouldn't it be? I am (im)patiently waiting for the sun to stop hiding, promising to solve my problems with efficiency and certainty instead of bursts of retail-therapy and increasingly constant indecision next week, or maybe sometime next fall.