i often feel like i need to be doing more with my life.
i don't know if this is healthy ambition, unhealthy ambition, me being called to fulfill my true potential, or me doing too much thinking and not enough doing. i suppose i'm having a third-life crisis. no, not a mid-life crisis (because knowing my luck, i'll live until i'm 100); not a quarter-life crisis (because i don't forsee surviving to blow out 120 candles). approximately one-third of my life is over, and it's freaking me the fuck out.
i mean, i just ate a chocolate chip cookie and hardly really tasted it. i'm going to need to get my act together if i plan on making the other two-thirds of my years count.
i know part of it is the pressure of our culture: pressure to have a retirement fund set up by age 25 and a college fund for your kid 10 years before you have her. i don't even want kids, but i feel guilty for having all of $400 in the bank and a crappy credit score. i guess i can thank my family for my financial retardation...and since i'm not having any kids, my bad money karma can die with me and that will be the end of it.
i really should just be amazed that i made it this far. everyone here knows that i attempted suicide, landed in the hospital for anorexia, blahblah blah blah blahblah...but instead of feeling like a superhero for being able to eat peanut butter and avocados without having a mental breakdown, i feel like a 17-year-old trapped in a 30-year-old's body, a girl who just figured out what everyone else was practically born knowing. i can't even figure out relationships for buddha's sake (although i know some 50-year-olds who still can't quite get it). there are people 5 years my junior who are running startups they'll be ready to sell by 2017...i have been putting off fixing my brakes for so long that i'd rather run the risk of a ticket for rolling through a stop sign than endure the embarrassing looks from pedestrians as my shrieking bansheemobile pulls up to the crosswalk, shattering a few storefront windows in the process. i don't know why i feel that car maintenance is a microcosmic metaphor for life, but i just do. so there.
thank god for graduate school and doctoral programs, because at least i can go to school for the rest of my life, rack up debt and avoid having to figure out what to do with myself.
yeah, i sound a little bitter and depressed. sorry. transitions were never easy for me, and the move is having a delayed effect on my stress levels. i broke up with my ex because i wanted more space. now i'm in the center of a gaping abyss with a dinosaur of a laptop checking into my Facebook profile page every 10 minutes. it's just sad. i should at least go to cafes and check Facebook...because when you're on a laptop at a cafe, you always look very busy and important, even if you're watching the latest episode of Baman Piderman.
what? you haven't seen ANY episodes of Baman Piderman? christ, man, click here.
anyway, i wish i had some uplifting conclusion to this post...but i don't. i'm going to pick the cookie crumbs out of my teeth and try to recapture the taste so i can make the 100 calories i just ingested count for something.
i don't know if this is healthy ambition, unhealthy ambition, me being called to fulfill my true potential, or me doing too much thinking and not enough doing. i suppose i'm having a third-life crisis. no, not a mid-life crisis (because knowing my luck, i'll live until i'm 100); not a quarter-life crisis (because i don't forsee surviving to blow out 120 candles). approximately one-third of my life is over, and it's freaking me the fuck out.
i mean, i just ate a chocolate chip cookie and hardly really tasted it. i'm going to need to get my act together if i plan on making the other two-thirds of my years count.
i know part of it is the pressure of our culture: pressure to have a retirement fund set up by age 25 and a college fund for your kid 10 years before you have her. i don't even want kids, but i feel guilty for having all of $400 in the bank and a crappy credit score. i guess i can thank my family for my financial retardation...and since i'm not having any kids, my bad money karma can die with me and that will be the end of it.
i really should just be amazed that i made it this far. everyone here knows that i attempted suicide, landed in the hospital for anorexia, blahblah blah blah blahblah...but instead of feeling like a superhero for being able to eat peanut butter and avocados without having a mental breakdown, i feel like a 17-year-old trapped in a 30-year-old's body, a girl who just figured out what everyone else was practically born knowing. i can't even figure out relationships for buddha's sake (although i know some 50-year-olds who still can't quite get it). there are people 5 years my junior who are running startups they'll be ready to sell by 2017...i have been putting off fixing my brakes for so long that i'd rather run the risk of a ticket for rolling through a stop sign than endure the embarrassing looks from pedestrians as my shrieking bansheemobile pulls up to the crosswalk, shattering a few storefront windows in the process. i don't know why i feel that car maintenance is a microcosmic metaphor for life, but i just do. so there.
thank god for graduate school and doctoral programs, because at least i can go to school for the rest of my life, rack up debt and avoid having to figure out what to do with myself.
yeah, i sound a little bitter and depressed. sorry. transitions were never easy for me, and the move is having a delayed effect on my stress levels. i broke up with my ex because i wanted more space. now i'm in the center of a gaping abyss with a dinosaur of a laptop checking into my Facebook profile page every 10 minutes. it's just sad. i should at least go to cafes and check Facebook...because when you're on a laptop at a cafe, you always look very busy and important, even if you're watching the latest episode of Baman Piderman.
what? you haven't seen ANY episodes of Baman Piderman? christ, man, click here.
anyway, i wish i had some uplifting conclusion to this post...but i don't. i'm going to pick the cookie crumbs out of my teeth and try to recapture the taste so i can make the 100 calories i just ingested count for something.
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