For the second year in a row now, I am the newest, youngest teacher with the nicest classroom.

It's so strange, being this little half-child, half-adult creature. I frolicked around all summer, visiting all my people and having sleepovers and happy hours and discussing in depth the merits of Second Dessert somewhere in the desert between California and Nevada. And now I get to educate people. I have a car and an apartment and a salary and health insurance and various degrees. I have adult problems. I have adult pleasures. I also have a voice that sounds very much like that of a twelve-year-old girl (or boy, depending on the day) whenever I speak to my boss or one of my coworkers. Sometimes I still inadvertently go for cute when trying to convince people that they'll love working with me.

Capable. I am capable.
And I really am good at what I do. The classroom is the one place where I always belong. But when did this all happen?