Growing Up Is Getting Old

You really have to applaud Michael Jackson for the concept of the Neverland Ranch. No, no, I'm not condoning his sleepovers with underage boys (But do talk to me later for a joke about what Mr. Jackson and Sears have in common), but I am giving him props for the fact that, somewhere in that delusional mind of his, he realized what a drag it is to grow up. Jack-O baby, I'm feeling your pain.

I just spent the better part of an hour browsing a bunch of pictures from when I was an undergrad. I had a smile a mile wide. I know I wasn't doing homework then, I had been through only one gay boyfriend so far, and being with my friends 24/7 didn't wear me out. I didn't have a clue what I was going to be doing in 5-10 years, and judging by the look on my face, I don't think I really cared. Sure, I'm only 8 months out of college, but I miss that time already. More than anything though, my trip down Memory Lane made me a little scared.

There was this guy I used to make fun of because he said high school was "the best time of my life." He and his friends ruled the school, he got to play football, and the girls wanted him (That had to be a stretch; he was as tall as a frickin' Keebler Elf). I giggled at the cliche then, but I shudder at it now. Right now, I'm tired as hell, and watching Forensic Files in my PJs now qualifies as "weekend plans." I'm so terrified that at 23, I've had "the best time of my life."

Even until last year, I had my life on a timeline--Married by 27, kids done by 35, Golden Retriever named Max--it was arbitrary and immature and wonderful. Now, I have no idea what to expect because I have no idea what I even want. I've realized I'm more selfish than I ever knew how to be because my time and energy are precious, and I want it all to myself. The thought of committing to even a dating relationship right now makes me squirm, I can't decide where to live this summer, and I usually buy way too many groceries because I don't even know what I like to eat for dinner anymore. Let's not even start on the fact that I don't believe in falling in love anymore, which is something I've wanted since I could breathe. My head is in a big conflict with my heart and I hate it. I'm scared that not knowing what I want is going to drag me into a position of complacency. But more than anything, I'm terrified that I'm trapped in a never-ending Taylor Swift song, where I lose my virginity to the captain of the football team, get abandoned by a fictional character, and then sit on the curb and cry all over myself as I watch some hussy and the love of my life, named Drew, hug all over each other and be in love. That's just not how I pictured me.

That was sufficiently depressing. I'm now going to crawl into my bed and read vampire love stories. Night.