As I approach the ripe age of 23 and a half (April 11th is my half birthday) I am slowly but surely disintegrating into a pile of worry, stress, loneliness, back pain, and wonder. Wonder of what the hell my future holds. I am constantly reminded of how quickly time is flying by. No, I am not that asshole that celebrates her half birthdays. I'm just growing up. Fast. Seven weeks until my college graduation. Twelve days until I'm closer to 24 than 23. Two and a half years until I can no longer depend on my parents to provide me with health insurance. Nine months until (who thinks I'm going to say "my baby is born"?) my Arizona drivers license will no longer be valid at airport security. (Look it up. You're probably screwed too.) I have to go retake my driver's test to get a Hawaii license. How many feet away do you have to be from emergency vehicles? I DON'T KNOW.
When did I grow up and what did the universe do with my childhood?
When did five year olds start getting iPads for Christmas instead of bikes? Where was I when my entire high school class got engaged, pregnant, married, or divorced? Are we adults now?
Anyone who knows me knows all too well how obsessed I am with growing up and getting old and what it means to be 23 and a half.
I can tell I'm growing up because I am starting to make real live adult decisions and mature changes to my attitude. I sulked for the last couple months in my room for no real reason. I disappeared. I thought if I hid in my room, adulthood would just pause for a moment while I figured my life out. Then I came back to Earth and decided I want to buy a car and stop letting shit get to me. Two completely unrelated adult decisions.
Spoiler alert: this is not going to end the same way my first ever blog post ended. I am not going to say "the unknown future is so exciting and who cares what I do? I will figure it out while I enjoy being young and carefree."
Those days are over. Hello! Graduating college in SEVEN WEEKS. My carefree 23 year old days are gone. I am 23 and a half now and it's time for a reality check. I am terrified of my future. I have student loans up the wahzoo. I have zero plans for a career. I live in a small house for way too much money with three other girls who have tons of time left to figure their shit out. I'm cluelessly trying to buy a car off craiglist from some shady-probably-meth-dealer old lady who looks sweet and innocent but is going to sell me a lemon for every penny I'm worth. I am definitely not carefree and 23. I am full of cares. And premature stress.
Let's get to the point. I'm ranting.
In an attempt to weed out the useless stress, I want to test out this "ask yourself if this will matter in five years" strategy. (I'll get back to you on how well that works. I'm trying to grow out my hair, so with all this stress reduction I should have a mane by Thanksgiving). When I look back on 18 year old me, I can't think of one thing that happened that still matters to me in the slightest. This shit is full proof, I can tell.
(Sorry mom, I haven't blogged in a while. I'm wild with excitement, I can't control my sailor mouth).
Also, does the period go inside or outside of the parenthesis? Things I need to know as I enter the real world.
Here are some things that really make me homicidal and/or stressed beyond belief that I will try out this five years approach on real quick:
Will it matter in five years that a guy at my table ripped his coaster into tiny tiny pieces and spread them all over the table for me to clean up later? Doubt it.
Will it matter in five years that the girl in my sociology class laughs too loudly for one hour and fifteen minutes every Tuesday and Thursday at shit she's looking at on her computer? Mmmm, nah.
Will it matter in five years that my roommate left the shower curtain open yesterday? Not at all.
Will it matter in five years that I had to drive my moped to work in the rain? Negative.
Will it matter in five years that the bartender made fun of me for not knowing what a lime wheel was when I first started working at this bar? Nope.
Will it matter in five years that my coworker said my jacket is ugly? Do not care.
Will it matter in five years that I am extremely single and haven't been told I'm pretty by anyone other than drunk old men who ask me for double Johnny Walker Blacks on the rocks for the seventh time in an hour at my bar? Eh, hopefully future-blissfully-in-love-me won't remember that. Will report back when I'm 28 and either in love or still single as f***.
Will it matter in five years that some of my friends thought I wrote a blog post about my sexual abuse to get attention? They probably won't be my friends in five years anyway. Whatever.
It would appear that a lot of my stress stems from my job. As does most humans' stress. I'm working on just getting over it that I got a day shift instead of the more desired night shift this Friday. I'm getting over the fact that my friend has to study for our exam with me in secret because his immature girlfriend sees me as a threat. I'm getting over the fact that my dad doesn't call to say hi as often as I would like. I'm getting over the fact that I don't have extravagant plans for my future like some people my age do. (That one is taking a lot longer to get over). I'm definitely not over not knowing if the period goes inside or outside of the parenthesis.
But in five years, I will be a completely different person, probably still referring to myself as an asshole and probably with the same back pain, but different nonetheless. I'll look back on this time when I was melting into a puddle of tears and worry over graduating college and laugh at myself and how grown up I thought I was.
Then I will make a new list of shit that irritates me and start asking myself if 33-year-old me will still be bothered by it. (Okay 33-year-old me is not a me I want to picture at this time of turmoil. Scary).
xo Tatum
