I wasn't going to write anything today because I promised myself I wouldn't force anything just for the sake of writing, but just when I thought I had a day off from my own mind I was torn out of bed by a horrible realization.
I'm old.
Obviously, I know, and have always known, sans a few drunken evenings in college, how old I am by number. I am 25. Still young by most standards, but man, am I one old 25.
You would think that I would have realized this at some point in the past few years when I began doing decidedly "older" things. Like, I don't know, graduating college and getting a real job, moving out of a beach side frat house and in with my girlfriend, trading in my Saturn for a 4-door sedan (A very COOL Chevy Impala I might add, but a sedan nonetheless), and, of course, fathering a child.
But it wasn't really until about 15 minutes ago that it all hit me, when I experienced a culmination of events that had been building most of the day.
After a day of doing fatherly things, like waking up at 6 a.m., getting irritated at the grocery store, running to the White Hen in my slippers to get milk, etc... I had to go to the hospital to sign up for Mass Health since, you know, I quit that job I had with the benefits.
I made some very fatherly negotiations with Raul the Mass Health adviser and managed to avoid getting raped by the state on my premium-- for now-- and proudly set my sights on manipulating some more people- mainly the tourists in the restaurant tonight.
*EDITOR'S NOTE- I originally inserted a rather lengthy rant about how much of a racket Mass Health, and the health care industry as a whole is here, but remembered both the purpose of this blog and my new commitment to staying calm and omitted it*
About 5-minutes in to my shift tonight I found myself in a sea of conversation I hadn't heard in almost 4 years.
"How were your classes this week?"
"Hey, do we have the same psych teacher?"
"Yo, there are some fly-ass bitches in my class this year, bro." (actual quote)
Our manager came downstairs to address the staff before we started our shifts (a ritual the management team predictably calls 'pre-meal') and, again, all of the conversation was about school.
"How was everyone's first week of school?"
"Ehh, sucks to be back, I miss sleeping in."
"UGH! I have a 9 a.m. biology lab."
Screw you, scientist, most days I am on my second nap by 9 a.m.
This went on for most of the night as I found myself talking to the 32-year-old guy I work with who has two kids for most of my shift and avoiding the cool college crew. All of this adulthood and fathering finally came to a head when I got home.
It was a fairly early night in general, and I managed to avoid the "I just want to get a fucking beer" feeling I usually have after steadily serving them to other people for hours on end, and actually made it home by about 10:15.
After a very un-adult dinner of freeze pops and Gatoraid, I decided I should probably turn in, since, you know, I have no reason to be awake.
This, of course, is where things took a turn.
As I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep I found myself becoming increasingly more irritated with the conversation going on amongst the kids on the balcony of the apartment across the street.
"Dude, I have this such and such class this semester. Its awesome, I feel like I'm back in high school it is so easy!"
"Hey, bro, so and so canceled my first class next week. AWESOME!"
"hehehe, Brandon, your so funny, I can't believe we have the same professor for biology!"
Just as the celebratory screams from the keg stands or drinking games or whatever poured in to my open window I caught myself getting super pissed. So pissed that I was going to go outside in my underwear and yell something like,
"I swear to fucking God if one of you assholes wake up my kid you won't make it to class on Monday!"
That's when it all came crashing down. The difference between 23 and 25 might as well be from here to Japan. A few years ago I probably would have thrown a beer can at the guy yelling up to my balcony and wondered how anyone could be such a stiff.
This, loyal readers will note, would likely have been one of those other times in my life, prior to this week, when I had the pleasure of experiencing the 6 a.m. hour.
What have I learned from this? Probably nothing. Other than I am older than I want to be. But on thing is for sure, my daughter is going to learn that being young is a fleeting gift, and she should probably cry less because she has no idea how good she has it.
Dammit. Looks like my father was right again... He is undefeated so far.
Seriously though. If these kids don't shut the hell up soon...
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