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Being Twenty Years Old

It is hard for me to believe that twenty years have passed. Two whole decades. A new generation of kids have entered elementary school. Kids who don't have a clue about Gwen Stefani, Walkmans, or the joys of MSN Messenger. I feel old and yet so ridiculously young at the same time. Twenty is a difficult age: I'm old enough to potentially drink myself to sleep every night, but I'm still too young to be taken seriously in the workforce. Therefore, for me, twenty is all about self-discipline. Having the option to do something doesn't mean you should do it. So I'll stay in school, spending countless hours slaving over essays which will be bell curved anyway, in order to get a piece of paper that may or may not give me a head start in "the real world" (twenty year olds don't really live in the real world, you see). For now, reality as a twenty year old can be summarized in a few simple bullet points:

  • Frozen pizza 
  • Debating between going to class or going home and taking a nap
  • Keeping at least three alcoholic beverages in the fridge at any given time
  • Conversations with friends slowly turn from shallow gossip into serious talks about which brand of Febreeze is the one worth buying
  • Attempting to reap the benefits of "young adulthood" by using our young age as an excuse for pitiful drama, mindless mistakes, and general irresponsibility 
  • Reaping the same benefits of "adulthood" by using our mature age as an excuse for going to grown-up bars, driving grown-up cars, and being a cocky a**hole ('cause adulthood is hard)
  • Realizing that after 20 comes 30 and after 40 comes 50 and after that we all die at some point, but it's okay, because existentialism hits hardest in our twenties (or so we hope)
  • Finally cleansing teenage rebellion out of our systems by appreciating our parents and being delighted with their homemade meals
  • Finally realizing why my parents always bought No Name brands at the supermarket
  • Complaining that a four month vacation is too long and one day off a week is too short
  • Confusion and bliss. So much of both. Twenty here I come.

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