carminefox

growing up has its pros and cons. i like making the money i'm making, and let's face it: i love wearing a tie every day. but little by little, i find myself worrying about things i was so sure i wouldn't have to worry about until i was thirty. maturity comes in the night, pokes me in the head, and whispers, "hey. you. yeah. you're gonna start worrying about shit like your 401(k) now. the comic 'dilbert' will suddenly be funny to you. you might not have time to dress up like ryu for the japanese convention. push-ups and sit-ups are going to start being way more important, now that you're drinking coffee and eating whatever-that-cute-secretary...-fuck-i-think-it's-danni-or-daniella..-baked-and-left-in-the-breakroom. you're going to start dating women based on their marriageability and look more deeply into their relationship with their families. you're going to start buying food from a co-op and decorate your apartment in "mid-century modern". you'll realize a lot of your friends really are going to be waiting tables til they're thirty-five. you'll start to value your free-time and your weekends will become increasingly desperate attempts to feel like you're not aging."

i'll stop with that one, because it's getting bad. i can't close down the bars with my friends like i used to, so i'm becoming more and more the life-of-the-party on the weekends. switching entirely from beer to bourbon to save on calories. smoking weed because i'm finally high up enough in the company to avoid drug tests. making out with girls who should really have their IDs checked again. fuck. when did i decide to live like this? parting my hair on the side. thinking about having kids. simultaneously being so excited about growing up and railing against the idea of vacation days. part of me thinks i'm just craving intimacy.

i need to do some painting. it's hard to paint during the workweek.