Quarter-life crisis

I’m seething with – not seething exactly, but I’m very angry. Not like Hulk– angry, but angry. Maybe irritated. Very irritated. And sad. With myself.

I feel like I’m watching paint dry. My life is – I’m turning 25 in 56 days. FIFTY-FRICKING-SIX DAYS.Fif– I used to look forward to this age when I was like 14-15 and think I’d be one badass heroine or something. To me, 19,22,25 and 28 are milestones for a strange reason, and this year is my messiest and shittiest by far. You know how you are on an energetic streak and you are foolish enough to decide that today you’ll clean your room, like clean clean. You’d clean out the crannies you stuff the mess in when you’re faux-cleaning and you brace yourself for a day-long event of sweat,dust and scrubbing. You remove everything and dump it in the middle of the room when holy shit– your room birthed its size in junk. Where did alla this come from? Your confidence starts waning and your happy mood shrivels at the prospect of spending hours wading through this mess. What on earth did I unleash? you think.

But guess what? There’s no undoing this now. Let sleeping dogs lay, but nooo you had to go for the jugular of messiness.

That’s me now. I had envisioned that by now I’d be done cleaning out my life and I’m up to my nose, figuratively drowning in all this mess I unleashed. I’m angry and upset and overwhelmed and curious and somewhat relieved. But tired, very tired. The conventional life is seducingly tempting and I catch myself thinking to hell with your endless ruminations.

My dad was asking me the other day whether I planned to live out my days like this; suspended in mindless living and lazy surfing the net 24/7? I’ve heard this conversation so many times it’s like the term and conditions apply contracts that no one reads but tick ‘read’ nevertheless. I tuned out the drill lecturing and chimed in with the ceremonial nods and agreements.

I realized long time ago that it’s futile explaining what I’m doing – that my figurative room is very messy compared to normal rooms because I’m doing deep cleaning that requires that I remove everything in order to tidy it. I’m met with concerned looks and bewilderment.

It’s like a have sign that says I’m emotionally panhandling because everyone and their distant cousin feel obliged to ask silly questions with condescending undertones and remind me to not waste my life and to take advantage of my youthful years. No shit! So that’s what I’m supposed to do in my mid-twenties; un-waste my life! It’s like it’s a ceremonial burial of my potentials where people come to pay their respects and the compassionate look at my parents that says you tried, you really did.

I lost my thread. I had this long list of things to whine about that just escaped my mind so I guess I’m done ranting.


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