Today I woke up and realized I’m 29 years old. No, my birthday was four months ago but today my brain finally processed it. As soon as I knew it, a part of me started to despair because I’ve missed the best part of my life.
Why? Because I didn’t get hammered every weekend? Because I spent most of my days sitting behind a desk, typing down letters and words? True, a lot of that time also went into playing games and watching movies. It’s strange how all of that used to mean so much to me.
So I’ve changed. I know exactly when I’ve changed. I know why I’ve changed too. I was busy getting my own mind under control. If I’d lived anywhere else, I imagine I would have spent my youth on one pill or another. Now that’s a scary thought.
So this is not really a rant about how I missed my twenties and didn’t do what I really wanted to do. No, I did exactly what I wanted to do. It’s just that I don’t like to do that anymore. Not because it was meaningless but because I’m a different person now. Hell, I’m about to be 30. About time I’m a different person.
I know what I want. And I’m going to get it. At least I will know to appreciate it. Twenties gave me that. Is that waisted time?
