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29 Years (an inebriated act of reflection)

Essay By: fossterr
Memoir



Everyone eventually gets to the birthday where they stop caring that it is their birthday. For me, this happened years ago. This is a birthday many years after THAT birthday..


Submitted:Feb 1, 2011    Reads: 99    Comments: 5    Likes: 17   


I feel that it's imperative to preface this somewhat self-indulgent and random story by stating the fact that I used to hate writing. Sometimes, I feel that I still do. I perceive that I am awful at it and like my art, tend to stop halfway through or become enraged and end up trashing it all together. I read once that Kurt Cobain behaved in this manner whenever anyone commented on his talent for painting. I'm not drawing a similarity to Kurt; I'm only stating that most writers and artists will probably understand this behavior.
Four days ago was my 29th birthday. Although I uncomfortably put a strained smile on my face and jovially told anyone who asked how my day was that yes, it was in fact my birthday, no one could have given less of a shit than myself. This was further expressed by the self-destructive act of ingesting copious amounts of alcohol at a bar in which I may now officially be too familiar with. I arrived to said establishment (a little English-style pub called the "Fox and the Hound") via a ride from my girl/friend Emily.
Emily and I had smoked about 85% of a blunt before we had arrived, and as we pulled into the already almost filled parking lot, my anxiety had reached a height of epic proportions. I could tell Emily was feeling the same, so we huddled close together and made our way inside. Upon entering, we shuffled our way to an empty booth in a dark corner of the bar because a.) we were really high and freaking out and b.) it was packed inside and that one booth was the only place available to sit.
Emily and I are six years apart, me her elder. This is a fact that I find troubling, only because I imagine that she does. I sometimes worry that I embarrass her or that she secretly finds me unattractive and old, even though she has never given me a reason to actually believe that this is so. Plus, it doesn't help that I'm sitting with her in a bar that is filled with attractive people, high, and on a very specific day in which my age has taken center stage.
I begin to feel as though I'm the butt of some cruel joke. Like I'm being fucking "Rick Rolled" in real life.
When you're young and naive, you think you're young and smart. You think you'll always be this way. What you (nor anyone else when they are young) don't realize is that you don't know shit. You will realize this fact when you wake up one day and suddenly it seems that six years have passed without you having a clue that it had happened. You will wonder where all the time has gone and why the things that mattered so much to you back then are merely an afterthought now. You'll begin to understand just how much you've taken for granted and how different things could have been had you the knowledge then that you now have.
You will realize this, and then you will forget it all, go downstairs, make a sandwich and repeat this behavior all over again.
Happy Birthday.




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