The Seven Year Itch

To some, birthdays are something to cherish. You're another year older, another year wiser. Another year till you can watch Brokeback Mountain in cinemas legally. To some others, mostly those above 30, birthdays are days to piss on and forget. Another year, another grey hair. "OMG, I'm too young to qualify for senior citizens concessions!" To the rest: Birthdays? Who the bleep cares? Just another day, like that dumb Valentine's "holiday".

But the next 2 birthdays for me are important. 21 is of course when society at large will view me as a man. On paper at least. But this year, I turn 20. End of my teenage years.

Man, were they wasted.

I spent the first years still playing the good boy and the loner, the later years trying too hard to make up for it. Life's tough for the former anti-social geek in denial, huh?

Anyway, I turn 20 this Friday the 24th, and as usual, I'll probably celebrate it by watching a movie. And a dinner from my parents.

And if you'll allow me to be a little emo, no, it will probably not be a "Happy" birthday. I'll act it, sure, but in the back of my mind, I know that I'm overweight, gaining more and too lazy to get my butt down to some push-ups, every job interview is a bust, I owe Ernie 23 bucks I don't have, I'm more than likely to make a damn fool of myself in front of the whole nation next month, my dad STILL hasn't forgiven me, a possible torrid time in NS awaits me AND my future is looking bleak.

My life is not boring anymore, I'll give it that.

But the future's the future. Next month is next month. This week, I'm going to try to make my last days as a teenager and my first days as a young adult count for something.

For one thing, my hair is crying for some professional help. For another, my hard drive needs more rock/dance/Beatles songs.

That's enough hinting. Have a good week. I hope I do.