April 30th, 2004


on getting better with age

I keep getting these shooting pains up the edge of my right hand to my little finger, especially when typing. I did some observing and realized that when I type a capital letter, I always use the right shift key, with my little finger, no matter which hand is hitting the key. All this time! So that finger ends up stretching funny sometimes and over the years I guess I broke it or something.

So I taped my right shift key at work to the ctrl key to keep from hitting it. Little finger rehab or something. A repetitive injury, can you believe it? I'm fucking old!

Speaking of being old, I did the math today and figured out that if I work really hard, I'll have an engineering masters by 2010. That's not so bad. I'll be thirty, which is insane.

I feel transitioned to another age lately. I'll be 24 in a month but I've been thinking of myself as that for the last several weeks. I'm officially in my middle 20s. Definately not a kid anymore. I officially can't shop in juniors departments at the mall. I listen to lots and lots of NPR. I had this feeling when when I first got out of college, where felt weird paying bills and grocery shopping, like I wasn't really grown up, just left home alone by mistake. That feeling is gone. The furniture is paid off. I sometimes think about the stock market.

It feels pretty natural. I've accepted the fact that life is this constant change, you don't hit any magic age and just feel like "Well, this is it, everything is figured out." When I was 20, I couldn't believe who I was when I was 18, but thought the transitions would calm down a little bit... every two-year increment wouldn't feel quite so drastic. I was wrong. I can't believe the girl I was when I was 22. There are these books I've read that I can't believe she hadn't read, places I've seen that I can't believe she hadn't seen. She felt so educated and accomplished and ready for the world but in truth I don't know how she made it this far. She was cool, I like her. I like her a lot more than the 18 year old. I don't even know if I could talk to that one, if I went back in time. I'd just stare.

Anyway I'm getting trite so I'd better quit writing, gotta work overtime tomorrow and this place is a craphole so my usual saturday cleanup won't happen. I get anxiety about living in filth.