3:45 pm

I'm twenty-five. All twenty-five years young. I can't get over thinking I'm still a kid. Saying "I'm the youngest of the bunch" is still at the tip of my tongue. It might just be because I've been thinking about all these "growed up" things like cars, travel and houses. I feel like I missed the proverbial luxury yatch on so much. I'm twenty five and I've got nothing to show for it.

I keep being told I'm young, that I've got all these years ahead of me and should enjoy my life whislt I'm young. At the same time, I'm not. I don't feel old, I want to not worry about cash-flow, or finances, or work , or cancer, or living arrangements, or about how the people I care about are feeling. It's just me. I can't. I'm a selfish and sometimes really mean bitch, but I care about people and things. I don't mean to, it just happens.

I've never believed the people that say "you're mature for your age". What the hell does it mean anyway, being mature? Fuck maturity. I want to be immature. It might be hard to believe, but I'm doing my absolute best to enjoy life and not worry about stuff. I need to find the "stop stressing" button. I have no idea where the hell it is on me. I want to do stuff just for the hell of it. Not just the safe stuff, but like everything stuff. The mean, evil, calculated risk stuff, hell even the uncalculated risk stuff. I want to not be afraid. I just don't get it. I'm not afraid to die. I'm just bloody afraid of being hurt. That's no way to live.

And no I didn't have a cake, so I didn't blow out any candles. Does that mean I'm not done with being twenty-four yet?

0 Responses to "twenty-five"

Post a Comment