I Own a Purple Shirt...

Remember your college years? Those were the years when anything seemed within reason--drinking until 4 a.m. the night before an 8 a.m. class, starting a twenty-page research paper a day and a half before it was due, pulling an all-nighter to finish said paper, getting on the greyhound website and buying a ticket to NYC for the weekend before finals, experimenting with drugs, etc. I look back fondly on those years, and when I say look back, I mean I call up my friend who I was in college with less than a year ago, and reminisce. Admittedly, these years are not far behind me, yet I find myself at what I'm going to call a flooded impass.

Let me elaborate.

Let's pretend we're standing at the base of a creek. This creek is flooded, and there is no other means to cross, besides of course, wading waist deep from bank to bank. For whatever reason--running for your life, you thought it'd be cool to be a contestant on Survivor and need food, or there's an injured party on the other side--it is imperative that you cross. While it is important that you cross, you don't really want to. So you hesitantly begin your treck, twisting your ankle on rocks as your other foot getts stuck in the suction of the muddy creek bed, and working against the tremendous weight of the water. This, although less extreme, is how I feel about my life right now.

Again--further elaboration required.

I recently took on a freelance job for an independent producer who needed something right away. Promise me wealth, promise me fame, promise me a job, promise me nothing, I will do what you ask. In this case, the job turned out to be a bit more overwhelming than anticipated. Let's skip over all the mind-numbing details and just say that I had two days to complete the job, and the last night I needed to pull an all-nighter in order to finish.

Now--brief pause. All-nighters excite me--or at least they used to. The fact that I have something so important to complete, and there's the chance that I might not complete it, gives me some sick, twisted, OCD rush.

Cue the flooded impass.

Despite my full mental commitment, my cherished coffee maker, and two "fridge paks" of Diet Coke, I was unable to remain awake for the entire evening. Around 3:45 am my body began walking itself to bed. Something must have told my body to do this, but it was not me. As if pushing against myself I tried to get back to my computer, but could not.

Elizabeth Lucas's poem, "Warning, When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple," comes to mind. I will be twenty-three years old in April, and today I am wearing a purple shirt. Two nights ago, the formerly simple task of staying up all night wasn't possible, and yesterday I woke up and legitimately did not know what day it was. Alcohol abuse takes a lot longer to recover from than it used to, and I responsibly used this years tax return to pay off all my credit card debt rather than buying something cool.

Despite my best efforts to stay on my side of the creek and my metaphorical flooded impass, I think I have begun to cross in to old age. How did this happen? Who decides? Boo to bodily limitations...

This is unacceptable, and I will fight it, likely with rampant alcohol abuse.