Because I still see # and read “pound” instead of “hash tag.”

It’s been a rough weekend full of a lot of deep thought and inner contemplation about who I am and what I want. I’ve also had some unpleasant epiphanies. To start with, at 29 I’m 11 years past 18 and 11 years shy of 40. Not the most pleasant of thoughts but it seems to get worse from there. I discovered that, unlike when I was 18, I can no longer come off an evening shift and enjoy some spicy, deep fried deliciousness without spending the rest of the night suffering and praying for a quick death to relieve me of the gastrointestinal hell that I’ve brought upon myself. I’m 4 years shy of being the parent of a teenager. Four years… I feel that thousand yard stare every time I think of it. Like a ‘Nam vet having a flashback I have memories of my own adolescence and that of my sister and can only dread the seven years of angst and ennui looming ahead. Already there is a lingering hint of attitude and a growing inferiority complex that makes me shudder to think of. Music I rocked out to in high school is starting to hit the Classic Rock station and there are way too many of my favorite bands releasing “Best Of” and “Essential” albums. I’m finding out that women my own age are all looking for marriage and commitment because they can’t stand the hideous beating of their own biological clock which makes most of them unbearable to be around. Meanwhile, men my age are equally useless to be around as they’re all preemptively gearing up for their midlife crisis as they relive their glory days from high school and college and continue to carry on vapidly about sports teams and “hot chicks” that they’d “totally nail” if not for their wives, girlfriends or significant others. 

In all, I’ve very disappointed by this grown up life that I seem to have suddenly woken up in. I mean, I always expected my twenties to be like a less depressing Hemingway scene. A few friends smoking cigars, drinking wine and sitting around in some quiet type of jazz bar discussing literature and preparing for adventures we were all going to embark upon. There were supposed to be long nights of passion where I woke with a beautiful woman in my arms to watch the sunrise, to enjoy a fleeting sort of love that could never be beyond that sunrise but that would always carry a smile in our memories long after it was gone. There were adventures across the world to be had, road trips and train rides and seeing and doing things that would expand the mind and strengthen the soul. To carry on vapidly about my high school/collegiate glory days for a moment, I could pull an all nighter with nothing but a sack of Krystal’s, a two liter Pepsi and a 45 minute nap and never gain a pound or feel the least bit of fatigue until I was ready to get in bed the next day. Now, even writing that sentence has exhausted me. Friends keep telling me that it gets better after 30. These are the same friends, however, that told me it got better after 18, 21 and 25 and so far, they’ve lied.

Truthfully, I’ve just let myself stress and take on far too much worry and concern over the last few years. Try as I might to live in the present and use my past only as a guide post to my future, I seem to keep getting bogged down in all my yesterdays. For the first time in my life I am in a place where I can write and dream and endeavor to make a career out of my passion and I still find myself fretting over trivialities.

Ah, looking back at this post even I find the problem of being too critical, too analytical and too old for my age in the way I think and feel. Although, it is nice to know that some things never change… such as my ability to ramble on over the inconsequential when I should be writing and working on that a fore mentioned dream. Instead, here I am, rambling on and watching Big Trouble in Little China.

In more important news, revisions, rewrites, and new stories are all coming just as soon as I type them up from my notebooks. Also, thinking of revising the site’s title as, despite my fledgling reputation as a horror writer and my love for the horror genre, this site persists at being a place just for my ranting and musing. Food for thought.

Image

And, because Big Trouble in Little China is one of my favorite John Carpenter films, here’s a little Pork-chop Express logo for you.

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About Danno

Dan Lee is a horror fiction fiend, freelance writer and photographer living in the outer edge of a large, southern metropolis. His stories, articles, and photos have been featured in several ‘zines and websites and his fiction and other prose continues to be developed through this blog.
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