As you can see, dear journal, I got myself a new travel journal. Maybe with it, I brought the hope that the rest of this trip will improve vastly. I’d hoped this trip would be my foray into my new and independent world. That I would prove to my parents how over-parented I’ve been and that I’m capable—but it seems their version of me may be closer to the truth than I’d like. Still, I’m proud of my parents and their ability to let go a little. They gave me their phone this morning, they didn’t ask questions, and they trusted me to drive off into the wild blue yonder with Max Diaz. And . . . I ended up at the police station, and Max’s car will probably end up in the scrap pile. Maybe I’m dangerous. Is that why my parents are overprotective? What if I’m not ready to be on my own and this failed mission trip is a marker? Maybe it’s like God’s pink slip—a notice that no, I’m not quite ready to be on my own. Is that thought to protect me?
