Thursday, January 29, 2009

Bone Machine

I suspect there are certain things that are supposed to happen when more and more birthdays pass by, when people remark again and again how old you are now. Some of these things aren't particularly to my liking; I don't care for several of them that I view as childish, but ironically I'm often the one tagged with that label. Some of these things are avoidable - alcoholic abstainment - some of them, maybe not - the view that I ought to have made serious headway into finding the one (actually, just one is fine!). It's too easy and cliched to say I don't want to grow up. In fact I've always felt a little old, which probably is because I've always felt a bit out of place, and all that. I certainly don't care for some of the standards that are placed on being an adult, but is that just a sign of immaturity? That's the problem with going against the grain, either by choice or circumstance - you're pretty much on your own, and have to decide whether it's not mere hubris that makes one think that 50,000 others must be wrong.

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