Twenty-Something (written March 6th, 2011)

You know what? I’m twenty. I’m allowed to get away with stuff like this. I’m supposed to; it’s my civic duty as a twenty-something year old.

I’m supposed to show up to work hung over. I’m supposed to claim I’m in love, even though I just met the boy I'm claiming to be in love with. I’m supposed to procrastinate doing my homework because I’d rather listen to music I can relate to. I’m supposed to be horrified at the thought of graduating. I’m supposed to blow the money I should be using for food on that dress I really wanted. I’m supposed to go to parties and try to look “sexy”, but shrug off any and all guys that flirt with me. I’m supposed to go on diets and then binge on quesadillas at three in the morning. I’m supposed to make out with girl friends just for the hell of it. I’m supposed to find pride in the little things. I’m supposed to question everything and understand nothing. I’m supposed to discover joy in the hardest times and be terrified of the things that make me the most happy. I’m supposed to experiment. I’m supposed to laugh. I’m supposed to make mistakes.

I am twenty. I am doing just fine.