Twenty-One

…"and growing" (minus the vitamins).

I’m supposed to do something. Or be somewhere. Don’t I have an engagement to attend? Let me check my schedule…

Hmmm. That’s strange: there’s nothing. So I write. LOL. That was nervous laugh out loud. You can drape your sympathy all over me so it covers every inch of my naked, pathetic yelp.

I don’t like people. This is not a new conclusion but I can’t stand others’ regularness. It’s not like I’ve transcended mediocrity but some people—some people!—are just too fucking regular in all facets of life. They cry over dead American soldiers too much. They are not annoyed at watching Drew Carey on his two new gigs. They like Lil’ Wayne. They tear Michael Vick a new asshole. They don’t cuss. Get the fuck out of here! They drink too much. Or, a new one that has surfaced, they’ve recovered, from acting out, and are on the right path—they’ve left rehab.

I’ve found myself, my life, at odds recently. While existential thoughts have always played in the mud of my mind, it has come to hemorrhage: what to do? This bulge won’t turn into bloody sheets, no, but there is quite a displeasure in carrying on, carrying on the status quo. It’s like I work. I eat. I shit. I go online. I go online? I listen to this and that. And I go to sleep. The banality deadens my synapses. I don’t even jack off anymore. Didn’t expect that honesty, now huh?

I feel like Atmosphere’s album title You Can’t Imagine How Much Fun I'm Having.

Leaving that angst filled rant behind, I do feel a little grown even though I’m not (I do still live with the ‘rents). It’s not that 21 signifies anything but it’s another step towards standing on my own two. The impending responsibilities draw near. Although I’m quite pessimistic about birthdays—it is one more year until my death—I do feel more comfortable in my skin at 21, then say, 19. Like, I look back at those days and I’m like “AWK-WARD!” No, it’s not like I was trapped in a closet but I’d like to look the other way at some of my moments from a few years ago.

The best thing I can take from the last year is patience. This last year I’ve been out of school and working. I always imagined myself finishing my four years and never picking a Mead purple notebook again. Ah, but I’ve got 6 years of school ahead of me. I ain’t going nowhere soon! With the time off, I’ve learned to relax and chill out about expectations. Why run when I can walk and take in the scenery?

But now it’s time to just wobble out… with some $9 umbrella drinks and this special purple agave that costs like, what, $15 a pop. Aww-man.