Another Year ...

My birthday was yesterday. It's okay you forgot, I don't make much of a deal out of it.

I present a lot of odd bravado about getting older. I don't act my age, I don't very much look my age, so I don't feel much of a need to be my age. I'm a youthful guy, plain and simple. I don't put a lot of stock in an arbitrary need to "grow up." Frankly, I don't see why anyone does.

You can't assign an age to anything, because age is nothing but a number that exists independently of either physical, mental, or spiritual maturity. It boggles me that more people don't see this, but I suppose I'll chalk it up to the need people have to measure, categorize, and limit absolutely everything.

Voting age is 18. It is the rare 18-year-old with the presence of mind and knowledge of law and politics to vote effectively. Hell, it's becoming increasingly rare to find any person with this presence of mind and knowledge.

Age of consent is a nice, murky one. Different from state to state and country to country. I do understand the need for laws protecting youths from fucked-up adults. I guess this one just ends up a necessary generality.

Legal drinking age. Heh. Man, for all our free-will mentality, we are a nation of judgmental prudes.

Age when people "should" have children. Funny, we don't have one of those. And that's one we should have.

My point is, maturity and intelligence and common sense are not things that come from age. They are things that come from living life. Some people live a lot more in a year than others. Then again, many, many people learn and live by very valuable life lessons that simply do not apply to people outside their subculture.

Eh, I'm getting away from my point. I've lived a lot in 28 years. People don't seem to notice it, because people don't notice me until they need me. Also, much of my living is internal. I do a lot of thinking.

I don't sleep well. It's kinda a bitch.

Hey, my web browser's spellcheck seems to have stopped fighting me on the word "kinda." At least my Mac can learn.

Back to my point: For all the thinking I do and wacky misadventures I have (oh, those misadventures), and for all the doing what is needed I do ... I feel young, yet I also feel life is going to be interminably long. I sometimes seriously worry I might live forever.

Ten short years ago, I was counting on being dead by thirty. This isn't a possibility I am prepared to rule out. It's almost a Plan C. I just have so much to do, and so little time to do it.

Another year gone by. I know I did well with it. I just don't know what I did well that I did for me.

At least I had an nice birthday for a change. No surprise parties I didn't want, no "friends" constantly reminding me that they're better than me. None of that. I didn't escape drama not my own, but it's fine. No rest for the wicked (and I am oh-so-wicked). Just a fun movie (with heavy sentimental attachment to the mythology), good food, too much drinking (through the weekend as a whole), a pretty waitress, delicious cake, and great friends. My best friends.

For all the shit people put me through (and, really, you all can feel free to explain that at any time), at least I know one thing: I know who my friends are. I know who my real friends are. And that's a life lesson far too many of us never, ever learn.