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we were gonna live on the west coast. we were going to get a little apartment and tear out the carpet and have bean bag chairs. we were going to play music and make love on the floor the way you see in pornos, everything perfect and glistening. we were going to smoke pot with the neighbors, trip acid in the desert, stand on mountains and proclaim all that we see to be ours. we were going to marry our high school sweethearts. we were going to swim in the ocean and then learn how to surf. we were going to wear sunglasses in hollywood and be so tan and skinny and blonde that we'd fool the paparazzi.
we're still living a thousand miles from the water. we have roach infested apartments with stained carpets, or we live with our parents, or we surf couches and eat tacos for breakfast. we're embarrassed that we still get pimples. we have no idea how to pick insurance. we do our taxes, we work 9-5, we hate our stupid jobs, or secretly like them sometimes. we buy slacks. we lose touch with people. we wonder why no one ever told us that no one really knows what they're doing, just winging it and trying not to regret anything.
but we make love like pros. we're awkward and gawky and kiss every kiss like a first kiss. we feel too pale in bed and close the blinds to keep away the morning sun. our touches are not expert but they are exacting, and every night is a first night, and we are young and feel good against each other. it's the one thing that's all ours.
I had a conversation with my father today. Well, not an actual conversation it was more of one of those here’s what you’ve been doing wrong things. Like I hadn’t realized that on my own. I know how old I am. I realize that the rest of my life depends on my actions now. Although I’ve been hearing that for at least eight years now. But here I am the obligatory adult fired from yet another dead end job that paid absolutely nothing and expected everything while forcing me to wear a stupid smock while developing meaningless pictures and smiling as customers complained because they forgot to turn the flash on and I can’t reverse time and remind them to do so. Everyone told me to prepare. To get ready because it was coming but they never told me how. They never said these are the things that you need to do to become an emotionally stable adult. I mean you get the education speech and the reasons why this matters so much but once that’s through and you’ve made your choices and suddenly you’re shipped out into the world with the “adult” stamp on your forehead somewhere you can’t see. They tell you to never lose that little part of yourself that still loves a thunderstorm and camping out in the backyard and they tell you to stop fucking around and start putting all of that shit behind you. You’re an adult now. They never tell you how to balance it. They lead you to believe that everything will suddenly just fall into place and you’ll just be that person they expect you to be. It never happens. You watch your friends move on get great jobs marry the loves of their lives and start families of their own. You watch as somehow they find that thing that you’re missing and repeatedly point that out to you over and over again like you can’t see it on your own. I hate this. I hate it because no one can tell me exactly what it is I’m missing. Why I can’t just buckle down and get back into the game. Why I can’t force myself to find that great nine to five in the three walled cubicle on the sixth floor. Why I can’t wear a ring and pretend that it’s not self demeaning to willing take someone else’s last name like yours never mattered. Why I can’t see myself in that town house with the white picket fence the dog in the back yard two point five children playing in the grass. I’m angry because I don’t want to “grow up” I never asked to be an “adult”. Especially while no one can tell me exactly what it is that qualifies you! I can drink, vote, fuck, smoke, drive, own land, buy a gun, and still I’m falling short of being an adult in the eyes of everyone else around me. I’m done trying. I’m Peter Pan and I refuse to grow up. My work days will continue to begin and end with the phrase “How can I help you?” and you know what I really don’t care. I may die alone my cat my only true companion and I just don’t care anymore. I’m done trying. Fuck it.