Being in your 20’s often suck.

I am constantly debating: Should I pay for the STD test, or should I buy Crocs? Should I go hiking in Kazakhstan or save for a deposit to move out of my family home? 

It is debilitating, I give my mind whiplash at the rate I change my mind. My thoughts are running 400 kilometres an hour, similar to the hamster I owned just 8 years ago.

Is it somewhere between teen and adult, or somewhere entirely different? On one side, my raging genetic hormones are driving me to search for a baby daddy, while my underdeveloped prefrontal cortex is jumping down the Reddit rabbit hole of regretful parents posting how they would jump in front of a train for their offspring, but simultaneously hate them?!

Outrages.

I am addicted to Rotten Mango, yet I refuse to watch television. I smoke weed like it is going to disappear, but Brian Johnson is my role model. I hate people my age, but my best friend is just a couple of months older. Sometimes, I hate my job because I am a borderline workaholic. My therapist hasn’t seen me in months. I have replaced her (for the time being) with magic mushrooms. I hate the taste of alcohol, but I think champagne is a treat. 

I have a crisis between community and solitude. I often think of my parents, but then again, I don’t.

I have become comfortably numb toward death, hence Rotten Mango and my addiction to Dostoevsky. Identity is yet another dilemma. I am not special, yet my capitalist habitat has taught me nothing other than the I. 

I have fallen in love with old men, which often leads me to be the man, and they become my lady boy. (Thanks, Amy) I am the airport dad, yet I lose my phone a minimum of 3 times a day.

One moment I am training for a marathon, the next I am sniffing unknown substances from a man in a unitard in the middle of the desert while people are running around a fire stark naked. 

My therapist has to clarify when I bring up my dating roster. Wait a second, are we talking about the 40-something-year-old Turkish man or the girl from the other night?

I am shocked when children call me old, yet I still call a trusted adult when my car starts making weird noises. 

I guess what I am trying to say, I don’t know. Do you know?