I am wondering when exactly you begin to feel like a real person. Is it when you have a career you enjoy? Your own house? A spouse? (Those rhyme.) Is it at age 25? 30? 35? I am not sure. But things have felt awfully drifty lately. Drift, drift, driftin’ away.
Like Nick Hornby said in High Fidelity:
You need as much ballast as possible to stop you floating away; you need people around you, things going on, otherwise life is like some film where the money ran out, and there are no sets, or locations, or supporting actors, and it’s just one bloke on his own staring into the camera, with nothing to do and nobody to speak to, and who’d believe in this character then?
In other news, I have to have my wisdom teeth out next Friday. Good God. That’s going to suck.