I'm still recuperating from ACL last weekend.
This week has been about a lot of stretching, a lot of napping and a lot of napping after napping.
I've never been one for music festivals anyway, but this year I definitely felt it. While trying to summon an epiphanic moment during Arcade Fire's closing show, I was blue-balled by a sharp pain shooting up my back. Even investing in Crocs and throwing festival fashion to the wind couldn't prevent me from bending over every fifteen minutes to try and relieve the pain. Drunks looked over at me like, "What's her deal?" I found some Advil in my backpack and wolfed it down, something I've been taking more and more of lately. The black hole in my kidneys becoming infinitely larger.
While trying to summon an epiphanic moment during Arcade Fire's closing show, I was blue-balled by a sharp pain shooting up my back.
While leaving the festival and trying to fight my way through the crowd, I imagined how I was going to die. Trampled by kids wearing unnecessary war paint and speared by their giant poles with ironic flags waving from them. I found myself getting cranky and ready to punch the first person who told me how great Kanye's show was on Saturday, having had issue with the rapper since he released the single "Otis." At any point I will become a raving lunatic, questioning why Kanye felt so obliged to sample someone, who in my mind, is untouchable.
It was then that I realized I was getting old.
I've shifted into the jaded late twenty-something. The age where you're too young to feel so old, but you do. You feel that you've lived a thousand lifetimes when it's really only just beginning.
Lately, I've been stopping in front of the mirror and no longer recognizing the face I see in front of me. The girl in the mirror has lost her baby cheeks. The hundred-toe crow's feet stay a little longer after she smiles. No matter which way she parts her hair, there is a stubby gray trying to careen it's jagged body through the rest. It's the same girl that feels a little exhausted in the morning, somewhat exhausted in the afternoon, and definitely exhausted in the evening.
I carry tissues in my purse, a sweater in my car and I wear a watch. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, A WATCH!
I'm the girl that drives down The Drag yelling at college students, "You have no idea! You have no idea what it's going to be like, ass!" I'm the girl that goes to the bar and orders a soda. I secretly judge people who date assholes and still can't figure out why it doesn't work out. I fall asleep immediately after dinner. I spew unasked for advice upon young people. I listen to Hall & Oates, for crying out loud! I didn't even know 75 percent of the bands that were playing at ACL. I carry tissues in my purse, a sweater in my car and I wear a watch. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, A WATCH!
I no longer romanticize "what if."
The last drama I experienced is when someone ate my very precious and expensive Goodpops, and I went ballistic.
Though it pains me to see the door of my youth finally close shut, and I realize that I may have lost my edge, I happen to like the person I've become. She may be a little grayer, a little achier, she may get drunk on a half a glass of wine and she may not change the radio station when Fleetwood Mac comes on—but she's a lot more sure of herself.
Growing up is terrifying, but it is inevitable. We can either fight it, or let ourselves become the person we're meant to be.