Last weekend, I mentioned to some of the staunchest readers of The Diatribe that I wrote my previous blog entry while somewhat drunk. It was, as far as I can recall, the only time I’ve written a serious entry while drunk. Under the circumstances, I’m glad it was well received. I was having doubts about the fact that I let too many feelings or emotions come out, which I usually try to keep in check. I’m not saying that this will start a trend, but it’s good to keep in mind.
Late last week, I was talking to a co-worker and, knowing that Swedish Girl is still out of the country, he said, “Be good this weekend. Don’t be going all crazy.” I told him that it promised to be a low-key weekend because I was driving down to a baptism (party…as it turned out). I then mentioned just how strange it is when your friends grow up and start having kids. I still haven’t gotten over the fact that my friends are now married, and now they’re having babies. I know I’m a few pounds heavier, a few steps slower, and my hair…well, I don’t want to talk about that…but I still feel young. On the inside, I still feel like I did 10 years ago, which means that I feel like a college senior whose friends are all marrying off and having babies. It just seemed to happen so fast.
A good friend once uttered to Captain Larby and me just about the best thing anyone’s ever told me, “Love is a dog from hell.” And that is just as true as it ever was, but aging is also a dog. With Swedish Girl not being around for the big baptism celebration party last weekend, being there solo made me feel like I did during all those crazy times when we were all in our 20s. Time keeps marching on, though, and I’m not saying that marriage and babies are bad. I’m halfway there myself and may end up having kids of my own someday.
I have to thank Perry for trying to snap me out of my pensive daydreams last weekend. I couldn’t adequately explain where I was coming from, so it probably sounded more like I felt old, as in tired, worn down, and crotchety. But like I wrote earlier, it’s a mental thing. I’m not fond of being 31 and I’ve fought these steps to adulthood tooth and nail along the way, only to fall victim to each and every one of them so far. College, real life job, marriage, responsibility, et al.
That co-worker of mine is 49, by the way. In retrospect, he put everything in perspective days before I even realized it. “Cool Jesus,” he said, “you think you feel old now, you just wait until your friends start becoming grandparents.”