Growing up happens in waves.
One time you're a kid frolicking in the grass somewhere, the next you're grazing it with your back bent and your knees wiggling under you. It's not an exaggeration about those knees, they're the first to go if you're not active enough.
I haven't been walking nearly enough. I have it in mind to start again next week, once the blisters are gone from my feet. Whoever wants to go to weddings, anyway?
I hate weddings and funerals. I've always thought of them as private events. People grieve in private, and they join their lives with another in the company of a few friends. As it should be.
I was just about to sit down and do some coding when I thought I'd come on here and try to tear my chest open and degrease those cogs. They've been running on overdrive and doing their fair share of squeaking.
That's what I plan on doing today, get some much-needed alone time and learn a few things I might never need with the hopes I might one day need them. I'm rather stuck, I made it to a part that I can't get past on my own. It's pretty advanced since I'm almost done with that language, and I need to backtrack and go over some things again then make another try. I'll be doing a bit of that tonight.
Tonight, when everything happens if you just let it.
It seems like every time I get on here I whine about almost turning thirty, but you can't possibly imagine how much that kind of thing hovers over you. I'm almost halfway done with the year, and as much as time feels like it's running on snail juice, I don't know where time flies when you're aging. You enter through that wormhole in a back-alley and come out in a dingy off-road that takes you on a highway you don't want to be on, where you waste the slowest three hours of your life to get somewhere you don't want just to get to a place you want, and it all happens way too fast.
What's so scary about turning thirty anyway? Other than the realization and the scary round number. It's just like every other year. My face is not exactly lined with the passing of time, not yet at least. I think it's just knowing that you're there with the weight of all the expectations you had about it growing up. I think I may have written myself a time capsule email when I was eighteen that will make its way to me next year, if the service is still up anyway. I hope it does. Maybe I'll remember all those damn expectations that are weighing on me behind my back.
I don't even have that many expectations. What IS scary about the big three-oh?
I remember coming on here and wanting to write about the hunger, and the foreboding sense of endless waiting. That post is now scrunched up in my virtual backyard. I'll get to it when my muse forgives me.
Why did I need to go to that wedding, I'd really like to go for a run, but my feet look like something out of Chernobyl. It would be another week at least until I can even take the subway.
Today was the first Sunday since I started my new job that I didn't want to work. I kept listening to music and talking to people with a gnawing sensation at the back of my head telling me that news doesn't wait for anyone. It's not like I'm a real journalist, I'm a flimsy tech journalist reporting on blockchain technology. No one will die if I don't write about it. No one will cease to live either.
That's not entirely true, I love my job. I just didn't feel like doing it today. I did it anyway, but it was a new feeling, one that I didn't think would visit me for a while. It must have something to do with the fact that I've been having trouble sleeping. I enjoy my time with myself too much to cut it short for some shut-eye. This morning, I must have been staring at how the light fell through the curtains for hours. It felt like sleeping, with my eyes wide open. I was at rest, engines whirring lightly in the aftermath of a good burst of energy. I wanted it to last for several more hours, but hours fell off the clock like ice cream melting on a sunny day.
Why doesn't time go by when we need it to?
As pretty as the office is, I hate staying after hours. I'd much rather be in my room, sitting in the glow of my large gaming screen and pursuing some interest or other in the manufactured quiet of a long evening. Not long enough, as I keep realizing. It ends too soon, I'm not done being by myself when I'm wrenched away to be with other people.
How do people ever find comfort in public spaces?
I could sit like this for hours, and not nearly be done. Just staring ahead, lost in thought. I'm trying to remember if I was ever like that or if that, too, came with age.
So many things came with age, but none that I'd care to recommend to a younger person. I still have hope that it's only a matter of time until the unpleasant aspects go their own way and leave me be. Time does that, it never sits still, even as we do.
