I still get this sour taste in my mouth when I see anything with dense legal jargon, like a tax form or even just a fucking utility bill. It’s stupid, but it just takes me right back to being eleven, sitting at the kitchen table, the lamp casting long shadows, trying to figure out what ‘due diligence’ or ‘amortization schedule’ meant from a dictionary my dad bought at a yard sale. My parents would just watch me, their faces a mix of hope and… I don’t know, resignation? Like I was their only shot at keeping the goddamn lights on. Sometimes, even now, I catch myself trying to translate things in my head, just in case. It’s ingrained.