This Adulthood Business is Tricky Stuff
In a life characterized by uncertainty, one thing is sure for me: the days of childhood and adolescence are dead and buried. Let me offer some proofs for that postulation.
1) I got a parking ticket yesterday for parking in a certain place, and there's noone to complain to. As I approached my car after leaving the Y yesterday, a tingling horror halted my steady pace. There was something on my windshield, and it wasn't animal excrement. No, friends, it was a 20 dollar ticket, and it came alone, with nary a shoulder to cry on. Given my financial state, I briefly contemplated a brief but plaintive wail, and then thought better of it. After all, 24 seems an age pretty far removed from wailing, much more so than 23, though I don't know why.
2) My aging Accord won't start, and there's no passing off the buck to a gracious father figure. I've got to go out there and jump the lifeless vehicle myself. I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I need to review my Greek, but I'm about to troop outside and start the car. Don't you just weep with me over my newfound call to responsibilty?
3) I'm going to bed at a decent hour, watching my daily saturated fat intake, and aching rather profoundly after exercise. None of these require elaboration, and each demonstrates a marked change in behavior. Add to that increased attention to one's appearance, namely, hairline, and you've got yourself an excellent candidate for early middle-agedness. It's enough to make me want to get a skateboard or something--only then I'll ache with even greater intensity in muscles I didn't even know I had. The situation, folks, is dire. :)
1) I got a parking ticket yesterday for parking in a certain place, and there's noone to complain to. As I approached my car after leaving the Y yesterday, a tingling horror halted my steady pace. There was something on my windshield, and it wasn't animal excrement. No, friends, it was a 20 dollar ticket, and it came alone, with nary a shoulder to cry on. Given my financial state, I briefly contemplated a brief but plaintive wail, and then thought better of it. After all, 24 seems an age pretty far removed from wailing, much more so than 23, though I don't know why.
2) My aging Accord won't start, and there's no passing off the buck to a gracious father figure. I've got to go out there and jump the lifeless vehicle myself. I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I need to review my Greek, but I'm about to troop outside and start the car. Don't you just weep with me over my newfound call to responsibilty?
3) I'm going to bed at a decent hour, watching my daily saturated fat intake, and aching rather profoundly after exercise. None of these require elaboration, and each demonstrates a marked change in behavior. Add to that increased attention to one's appearance, namely, hairline, and you've got yourself an excellent candidate for early middle-agedness. It's enough to make me want to get a skateboard or something--only then I'll ache with even greater intensity in muscles I didn't even know I had. The situation, folks, is dire. :)
posted by Owen at 6:56 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home