Even though I'd like to live forever in order to see the fall of western civilization and the rise of Native American robots from Ganymede, there was once part of me that wanted to die at 27. I wanted to be like Jim Morrison and live on forever in the memories and dreams of youth for generations to come. That plan fell through in part because no one knew who the hell I was. The other part was that I eventually turned 28.
Now I'm 31, and it may as well be just the way you read it. I don't remember 29 or 30 at all.
I work with a plethora of college kids at one of my jobs. I see how happy and carefree they are and it makes me sick. None of them are afraid of the government yet. None of them fear death. None of them have to lie to the IRS. None of them have dangerously high cholesterol.
And it doesn't make me sick in a hateful way. It makes me feel sick in the same way that you wake up from a long night of drinking with a hangover. Your thirties are a ten year hangover from your twenties.
Looking back on your twenties is like seeing a girl you dated has now become the biggest actress in the world and you stand up to say, "I slept with her before she was famous!" But you neglect to mention that you dumped her because her breasts weren't big enough, and you're managing a car wash.
I made a Tenacious D reference and a girl said to me, "I'm not THAT old." That's funny. I didn't realize I was either.
The only people who still think I'm cool are almost twice my age and gave birth to me.
It's like I'm standing in line at an all you can eat buffet in downtown Las Vegas eager to get my money's worth when a person bungie jumping off the top of the Stratosphere catches my eye through the window, and I lose my appetite for convenience. I decide to run out and join them, but I sit down at a table instead. The waitress takes my order for a water and I wait patiently. When she comes back I pay my 31 dollar tab with a 40. Before I tell her to keep the change, I think to myself...
I bet I can get a pretty good hangover at 40 with the remaining 9.
