Waiting to Collide

As was acutely brought to my attention by The Hater, I am obnoxious. I’m ok with that. Two types of people read my blog: people who know me personally, and people googling “panty drawer.”

Hey, you got what you deserve, buddy. Learn how to work torrents.

At some point, I became a grown-up. Not sure how that happened but, as time went on, my jobs paid me more, my house got bigger, my furniture got nicer, my significant others approached near-perfect suitability, and I moved closer to my friends and family. I live in a gorgeous 2-floor apartment in Boston with my dog, three cats, and fella who loves horror films and shoe shopping. My inheritence comes in after my birthday next month. I scored an awesome job in the city. I take the train to work every day. I am going to see my first opera at the Met in NYC this weekend with my best friend and my significant other. I found a 6-year PharmD program in the area that I can apply to as a transfer student, then move on to make 100k a year after 4 or so years of school.

My life is GOOD. Everything I could ever want is in reach.

Of all of these recent developments, I am probably happiest about riding the train. And over the past couple of days, I have become increasingly moody. There is no element of the unexpected in my future. I can look out and see a pristine career path, relationship, future. I will be safe and comfortable.

That depresses me. My life is predictable and boring. I can tell you where I will be tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be able to tell you where I will be on Friday. And so on and so on. Until I die. Until some morning when I am 45 or 50, when I will wake up and realize that I have wasted the one life I get making myself comfortable.

This will last a week or so, then I will go back to planning and arranging and applying.