Time is Finite...
One day you wake up and look at the calendar, it's October, this should come as little surprise as you have not recently found yourself in a coma, but you can swear the last concrete memory you have was in February. You wander into your bathroom only to discover you are in desperate need of a haircut, "Wait," you say out loud to yourself, "I can clearly recall having just got my haircut, I don't even think I paid off the credit card for that transaction yet."
|I know beards are "in," but seriously get yourself together.|
You grab your phone to confirm your suspicion, completely unmoved by the fact that you hold the computing power of a space shuttle in the palm of your hand, and find that your last haircut was in July. Summoning up your previous encounter with the calendar you realize this means it's been just over two months since your last trim.
Someone once explained how time seems to move faster the older you get, they used relativity and percentages and just generally bored me with their bantering, but I retained the memory well enough to regurgitate it in the paragraph. When you're 5 years old, a year is 20% of the time your brain has been recording information. When you hit 15 years old this percentage falls to 6.66%, by the time you are 25 years old one year is a mere 4% of the time you've lived.
At some point you seem to hit a proverbial warp speed and days, weeks, months and even years pass without even seeming to leave a trace of having ever occurred. You start to worry that you have developed some sort of multiple personality disorder and hope that you don't spend your lost time eating the hearts of street walkers.
But don't worry you haven't wasted your time, because their was nothing better to do. While you were playing video games and gaining 20lbs on ruffles and stale pizza, the rest of the world was getting a life. Your best friends now have turned abstract concepts into reality. One day you are driving around town throwing water balloons as you reach out to get more ammo from your friend he hands you a child. It is his son. He has not only found someone to procreate with, she has married him and they own a house. Like a real house, with all the windows and a fridge without beer! Everyone around you is getting married, having children and busy with these unfamiliar things call careers.
|What do you even say to this...even I am aghast, and isn't too far removed from my typical Friday, as I tend to just forgo the shirt altogether.|
All you want is a drinking partner who will distract the ugly friend while you desperately try to pitch your current fry cook position as something with more culinary prowess. But everyone is busy, with birthing classes, second jobs and wedding planning. You find out that the only way to successfully plan any bonding time with old friends is to schedule said time far in advance, a concept that strikes you with such confusing you chose to go to the bar alone.You sit down and, by the grace of some under-appreciated deity, strike up a conversation with a female, you begin talking but quickly the conversation dies off and you conclude there is no reviving it, you give up, realizing
You find yourself is an endless cycle of dying conversations with the opposite sex, she has nothing to say that interests you in the slightest, but this should come as no surprise as you find most people insufferable. You have always been able to just push through the tedious small talk, in the small hope that the woman would reward your sacrifice by letting you kiss her, and if the rambling was particularly daunting, allowing a wandering hand to find it's way under her clothing. But now you just can't, you don't want to, somehow the potential reward just isn't worth the effort.
|No, really I am totally interested in your analysis of "The Bachelor," go on...|
But if not bars where, and that's just it, I have yet to figure that out...so I hope you weren't waiting for some huge revelation to help you. But when you finally find someone worth spending a night (and $50s) on, you find yourself picking a restraunt that even the name of sounds pompous, you don't care because
You find yourself eating, and ENJOYING, foods you use to hate, or at least assume you would have hated had your mom bothered to try feeding you anything with a red wine sauce. Bitter foods replace sweet as your preferred comfort foods. You become slightly paranoid that someone has gone to all your former favorite restaurants and changed the recipes. Sugar candy is too sweet, you replace fruit roll ups with real fruit, and not just because you are trying to lose those 20lbs that have taken up residence in your midsection.
You lose the ability to even understand how you stomached, let alone craved fast food. You trade in Moscato for Chardonnay, and must to the disdain of your 16 year old yuppie hating former self, you know what the difference is.
Oh! and you are effected by the things you eat, not only do you gain weight with an easy that convinces you the gods are mocking you, something too sweet and your teeth hurt, too spicy and your stomach rumbles and good luck sleeping, too acidic and you burn up hell fire for the remainder of the night.
|But no matter how old I get I will always make room from any food the comes in fluorescent shades of awesome|