I just saw another one... a baby picture. On Instagram. Another one of my old classmates, the one who barely passed art history, just bought a house in the suburbs and has a kid on the way. And I'm sitting here, 30 years old, scrolling through other people's perfect lives, while my living room looks like a daycare exploded and I haven't bought new art supplies in... I don't even know how long. Seriously. All these people I went to college with, they're having babies and buying houses and going on trips and I'm just here, every single day, every day, cleaning up after everyone else. Every single day. It's not even just the baby stuff, though that's a big part of it. It's the whole... picture. The whole life. I used to have dreams, you know? Big dreams. About being an artist, doing my own thing, making a name for myself. And now? Now I'm just... the one who's always there. Always cleaning up. Always making sure everyone else is fed and happy and has what they need. And don't get me wrong, I love them, I do. But sometimes I just want to scream. I want to scream at everyone to just LEAVE ME ALONE for five minutes so I can actually THINK. So I can actually paint something for myself instead of just drawing cartoons to keep a toddler occupied. And then I see another post, another smiling couple in front of their new house, another perfect little baby picture, and it just hits me. How did I get here? How did everyone else just... move on? Get their lives together? And I'm still here, stuck in the same place, feeling like my own life is just passing me by while I watch everyone else live theirs. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm falling behind. So, so tired.