At Work
There was a red spot on my face today on the left side of my nose. And I didn't think anything of it because it was just a red spot and I had to wash my hands and get back to work.
And now, its a hard bump that is going to turn into a disgusting distraction on my face. I thought that being 21 would replace pimples with wrinkles, the same way it replaces water with alcohol.
Guess I was wrong.
Now, I'm just old and young at the same time. That stupid transition between babied and respected. And, I don't know which one is worse of better. Because, honestly it's all the same to me.
Just like these words. These endless words for a diary that I have been writing in since October 3, 2003.
And it's really been that long. I've remained that committed to something? I'm impressed with myself. Good job, May. You deserve a pat on the fucking back.
Pat.Pat.
Really proud o' you.
But to be honest, I can't decide if I want to be young or old. Or be an inbetweeny. But, I don't think there are inbetweenys. I think this is a hot or cold decision. Black or white. And to be honest, I don't think anyone has the choice.
Young or old.
Old.
Young.
And age is just really a number. And, I don't really mind. I don't mind what my number is. It just gives me legal permission to drink alcohol, and the dissapointing thing is it was much more exciting when I wasn't allowed to.
When asking older kids to buy your alcohol for you. And sneaking it in quickie-mart gas station coke cups. And hidind it in your closet. And then sneaking into clubs and bars was much more exciting.
When I'm 40 they still better card me.
I want to be me again.