I sometimes feel like I'm at the age of age. Where its become almost an obsession. Where I'll go to a Wikipedia page solely to check when someone accomplished something. And if they were two years older than me I'm like, oh thank God, I could still do that. All I would have to do is start training now, learn how to shoot a rifle, learn how to ski, and I too could be an Olympic Biathlon champion. And if they were two years younger than me, I'm like, well, damn, I guess I'll never, ever, do that before I die. Not at this age.
The age where you read a biography competitively, and an autobiography even more so. Who the hell are you to write a memoir? You're still alive. And so am I. I can totally write an autobiography if I want to. I just don't. Because I have other more important things to do. Like go on Wikipedia pages of former Biathlon Champions and mock their strange-sounding names. For example, Norway's Halvard Hanevold.
I'm at the age where no one wants to have a birthday party, but does anyway, because were still supposed to party. The age where you ask someone how they're doing and hope they say not that great. That age where half my friends are posting pictures of their babies on Facebook and the other half are getting fucked up. Half my Facebook friends that is. My live-action friends are way too fucked up to have kids. That age where I just got kicked off the family plan.
I'm somewhere past the age of innocence, but not quite at the age of reason. Like an old soul whose young at heart. I'm not yet age appropriate, but I am able, with a little effort, to act my own age. I just prefer to perform at someone else's. I certainly have room to age more, but am clearly not age-less. After all, age is just a number. Of how many years you have left until you die.
I'm at that age where for the first time people look younger. Not like children, but people you once thought you could have sex with. And not like sexy children. Like people at the same concert. Dancing to the same song. Wondering why you're there. Wondering why you're staring at them. Wishing you would stop. Going somewhere else to dance. With a guy who banged some other chick last night.
The Age of Aquarius before she had her last birthday. The Age of Empires. 3. The age of dissent. The age you were when you were going to walk both ways in the snow, then said screw it, I'll drive. The age that love has actually met, and now knows pretty well. The age of discrimination. The age you wish you could go back to, and the age that you can't wait to be. And I'm not even that old. Or am I?
That's the thing about aging; you never know it's happening until it did. You don't wake up and age that day; you wake up one day older. You don't order one less beer, you just leave a little more in the bottom of the bottle on that last one. You're not looking to stay in on Thursday, you're just that tired from work. You jerk off in the shower and look down to find a gray pube.
But, you know what, even if I'm not at that age where my whole life is ahead of me, I still got at least some left to put behind. And that's a lot more living than plenty of other people have. Old people for example. Or dead people. People that have already lived their lives. I'd rather be of my age than theirs. And who cares if some of them have books about them. Or success stories. Who cares if some people alive have already accomplished so much more? Who cares that some are living their dreams? Or did. I still have time. I can still beat them. I can still be the best. I've got ages.
Then again, I don't even have a Wikipedia page yet.