When I was younger, I always pictured the ideal part of my life to be when I was 25 years old. I would know where I was in life, own a vehicle that I bought myself, own a pet that I take care of without wanting it dead most of the time , have met the man I want to marry, found a career I wanted to see through the rest of my life, started being a good daughter, learned to speak 2 foreign languages fluently, and the many many things.

Being very close to 25 now, I feel the full pressure of this deadline and all the things on my list bearing down on me. Like a gigantic protocol that has 80 steps, and the end result is that you set up a long drawn experiment that needs you to work at it consistently with full attention.

I know this is whiny and unfair, but I find myself waiting for 3 years away. When I won’t be intellectually restless, when I will know that my ‘research’ is taking form, I won’t have course work, I will old enough for my parents to take me seriously when I tell them what I think, and most importantly, I will be used to adulthood.

I know I sound like an ingrate, since I am living my dream and building my life, mind, and career. But hard work has never been easy for me. Being extraordinarily talented at mindless, clerical work does not help my half hearted attempts at trying. Not for lack of talent. Some times I surprise myself. At others, I keep to hiding behind the lack of seriousness, dreams of my pet monkey, and a queer, queer domestic inclination.

I’m aging. And it’s happening fast. I even found a grey hair the other day. Faced by my mortality, I realize how much of time I waste planning and dreaming. I want three years later.

Oh, and there’s a Sufjan Stevens concert in Atlanta today.

Also, Sufjan, you will be missed. Suf is P&C’s dog, he’s moving back to Kansas this Thanksgiving. I will miss you Snoofi. May the force be with you.

And mine is about as good this far.
And I’m still applied to what you are.
And I am joining all my thoughts to you.
And I’m preparing every part for you.

All the Trees of the Fields will Clap their Hands, Sufjan Stevens

Until next time, keep singing.

You’ll thank me later.