For what is hope, a form of moral responsibility. Here there is no hope, and consequently, no duty, no work, nothing to be gained by praying, nothing to be lost by doing what you like. Hell in short is a place to where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself.

• George Bernard Shaw, Don Juan in Hell

In my short yet ongoing foray into adulthood I… I am confused and have no idea what an adult is or what people mean when they call me a young adult. I do my best to write an original piece for anything which calls for writing. I think of a line from the pilot of Game of Thrones about keeping the mind sharp, but what am I cutting?

I have sharpened chisels made for woodworking and after a dozen hours of practice it has shifted from stressful and repetitive to calming and peaceful. I am waiting for my writing to change in kind. Instead, the internal pressure builds to a breaking point and a touch before that I let the steam out. Words appear on the page, an hour has gone by, and I get up to grab a drink of water. I must replenish the vapour lost by exhalation.

I learned water is the universal solvent and brushed it aside. How could anything be universal? Now I think back to my early years bemused by my confusion. This line of questioning has continued on for millennia, older than time itself yet I had an inkling then that a satisfactory answer would come eventually. I did not think it would be on the precise of adulthood.

This kind of question does not appear as often anymore. The scavenger hunt for facts still remain, but instead of being led by a leash I hold the leash in my hand. I am relieved the tugging at my neck has decreased. Unfortunately, as I have yet to be domesticated the leash must stay on for now. Primarily for my own safety.