I’m turning twenty-five on eighth. Don’t hassle. You don’t have to congratulate me. For me, it’s just another date. I’ll still have the same issues I’ll have on the night of seventh.
Nothing would change. Well, expect the date.
The night of the seventh, or the morning of the eighth, I’ll be as conflicted as I’ve been for last six, or seven months.
I might be one of the self aware narcissist, or I could be a psychopath with too much self pity. Actually, I’d lean towards the latter one. After all, I’m whining with my words. Aren’t I?
Rather than doing something about it, I’m complaining, like an idiot. All that is wrong with the world, all that bothers me. How my life never turned out to be the way I wanted it to be?
Actually, that could be the problem. I assumed my life would have been a projection of one of my dreams. I’d be successful, would have achieved something significant, at least by my standards, but here I am. A soon to be twenty-five-year old millennial, with the issues that would put my ambitious self to shame.
You know, it could be the part of growing up. It’s definitely a human experience. A life teaching, if you must.
I’m fascinated with human psychology. Did you know that? The whole deal.
Why we do what we do? Why the fuck do we do anything?
Isn’t that the greatest question every religion tries to answer?
Do you ever get tired of thinking, analysing, extrapolating your every move? You might ask, what sort of strange question is that. If you did, if you actually did, man, I’m in trouble.
I’ve lived my entire life like that. It isn’t methodological, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is just a way of life. It’s how my brain keeps itself engaged. Like I said, I’m either a narcissist, or a psychopath. You know what, I could be both.