These days I bypass most parties and even art shows, even if I want to go. It's a defense mechanism. I don't trust myself and am not in the mood for more trouble.
I tell myself I'm too old. Maybe this is premature to say at age 27. It's really about fear. Age is just my excuse.
When I last visited my mother, out of nowhere, she told me I'm not a spring chicken. A simple woman if truth be told, so she must have been referring to the lines that have developed on my face that I swear are the result of touring with the band, because they weren't there before.
I feel old, but I'm fighting not to dwell, because it only ages me more, and...I wonder why I even care. I should be happy to exist in this moment, ecstatic that it's not yet five or ten years from now, when my face will have changed even more. But that's like waiting for the guillotine to drop. I just feel that 27 is too young to feel this old. Sorry. Winter makes me such a downer.
Maybe time isn't the enemy. Maybe time is what I need. To learn to make the best of that which cannot be avoided.
I'm no spring chicken, but I'm ready for a new year. I always love a fresh start to redefine myself. And when I have a goal, I stick to it until success is mine. Be merciful, 2008. Perhaps I should re-word that phrase sans victim tone. So here it goes.
2008, I'm gonna kick your ass.
8:32 p.m. - 2007-12-17