Quarter-life crisis? Me?
My friend Aleigh thought I should start a blog because I have lots of inane crap going on in my head. I was encouraged by the idea of an outlet for sort of mentally cleaning house on a regular basis, so I figured what the hey.
So I'm having a glass of Yellowtail Shiraz-Grenache and contemplating the influx of skinny twenty-year-olds in my household. The farthest I've gotten is: Damnit. Damnit.
My next thought: I better not tell my roommates I'm starting a blog.
At 24, I never thought I'd feel like the 'old' one in a situation. But now in a strange twist of fate, I live with four twenty-year-olds - and people ask me for advice. I think they might look up to me... at least, they ask me to buy booze.
It's freaking Friday night, what are they doing here? I mean, obviously they can't legally drink in public and I imagine that probably puts a damper on their plans. But seriously. They're in college. I want them to go away so I can wallow in my quarter-life crisis a bit.
Oh yes - quarter-life crises, they exist. The relatively stagnant period where you've figured out some general information about yourself, enough to exist in a semi-static state, but are plagued by random wild oats appearing out of nowhere to haunt you and force you to question your decisions. Yikes. Okay, I'm starting to scare myself.
I'm sneaking to the kitchen for another glass of wine.
posted by Devashan @ 11:45 PM
3 Comments:
"got more lyrics and the church got 'ooh Lords'
givin ya'll nothing but The Lick like two broads
plus he hold the mic and your attention like two swords"
What do you write on someone elses blog? Could respond to whats given, or go completely on a random tandem anthem. Manhattan is loverly this morning. Plenty of sunshine, headed my way. Only problem is... secret neighborhoods like mine are being gentrified and turned into a giant outdoor walking-mall for America's elite. The Native Americans are long gone. You can only sort of tell they were ever here. Ludlow Street has to be an Indian name. All the blacks are in Harlem, the Hondurans, swept up to Washington Heights. Midtown is what everyone thinks all of Manhattan is. Big buildings. Food carts. Snazzy clothes and people walking too fast or too slow. By the time Disney finishes with the place some rotten, jealous terrorist bastard will have flooded the place with Zyklon B that he dug up in Germany. or such is my fear.
24 old? ha!
ha? what does that mean? cause I am! and you're lucky I'm actually owning up to my real age, damnit!
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