It's my birthday today...I'm 24 years old. I'm 24 years old and I can feel my bones creaking.
I don't know what it is about 24 but all of the sudden, I'm dreading getting older. I suppose it's because it's a reminder of what I don't have: a degree, a man, a real job...you know, the things that everyone wants and apparently has now.
Sometimes I sit around and dream of a rich doctor or lawyer or artist or something will come into my life and sweep me off my feet, give me everything I ever dreamed of and we'll live happily ever after. But it's just a dream.
Sometimes while I'm unloading the dishwasher, I think about the stories...the countless stories that buzz around in my head but never seem to make it onto the page. Mostly, they're incomplete and that's why they never make it. But to be complete, they have to make it to the page. It's a terrible catch-22 that I've imposed on myself.
Sometimes I think about college. I consider going back and finishing my English degree...or maybe starting over and going to culinary school or beauty school or maybe I'll just stay where I'm at and live vicariously through characters on the television, people I invent on my pages and my family and friends.
I'm 24 years old today and I can feel my bones creaking.
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