There are things Fiorella wants to do and things she needs to do, and the latter always takes precedence. Somehow, she thought it would be different as an adult. Who knew she would be working on the yard instead of taking Spanish lessons? Taking care of the house instead of painting portraits? Figuring out family finances instead of writing poetry? Dealing with various repairs and construction instead of lolling in a hammock? Handling family crises rather than writing books?
Is there no relief?