Old, that is.
At the time this post is published and public, I will have reached twenty. How I’ve made it this far, I have no idea. A fifth of a century. It’s scary to think of it in those terms, but it’s the reality. I’m already sitting there criticizing the “kids of today” and talking about how great things used to be, and constantly reminiscing about the 90s.
What lies past here? I asked the same thing when I turned eighteen, and the answer was unanimous; fuck all. Just the same shit, except most of it was legal now. Nothing really lies beyond this hurdle, except more hurdles, stretching into the horizon with a numbing inevitability that eventually I will reach the end and it will be a harsh cliff with jagged rocks beckoning to me below.
At this point, any of you reading this will probably be thinking “Man up James, it’s only twenty! You’re still a fucking kid, suck it up.” or something to that effect with less, or maybe more, curse words. The words are irrelevant, I know, no matter what age, or your mind set, you would of thought about growing old at some point. You can feel it, the one thing we can’t stop. All these moments we cherish will become distant memories, and in the end, so shall we. It’s a morbid set of thoughts, but reality they are.
I, for the first time, am scared about growing up.
Photo by Mohan S, taken from Flickr
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