I just gotta say this. I'm so sick of this. I'm 19. My whole life is taking care of my little brother. He’s 10. Mom works two jobs, always has, and Dad... well, he's just not around. So it's me. Always me. I pick him up from school, make dinner, help with homework, get him to bed. Every. Single. Day. I missed out on so much in high school because of it. No parties, barely any friends, just school and then home to be the mom. And now I'm in college, trying to get my degree in biology, because that's what everyone said I should do, what would get me a "good job." But I hate it. I hate all the reading, all the memorizing, the stupid lab reports. I just stare at these papers, all these intro essays, and I want to scream. My dad, before he just... left, he was a carpenter. A real one. Built houses, fixed stuff, worked with his hands. I used to go with him sometimes, when I was really little. The smell of sawdust and fresh wood... it was the best. He’d let me hold the nails, watch him measure, see something just appear out of nothing. It was amazing. I remember thinking how cool it was, how real. And now I’m here, grading some kid's paper about photosynthesis, and all I can think about is how much I wish I was building something. Anything. Something I could actually touch, actually see come together. Not just words on a screen or stupid plant cells under a microscope. I just feel trapped. Trapped taking care of everyone, trapped in this stupid major, trapped in this life that everyone else picked out for me. I just want to make something real. Something that lasts. My hands ache sometimes, not from working, but from not working. From doing nothing but typing and flipping pages and wiping noses. I just... I want to get my hands dirty. I want to smell wood again. And instead I'm just here. Staring at these goddamn papers. Wishing I was anywhere else.