Nonfiction.

Recently, I've become a fan of non-fiction essays. Usually, these essays are of a witty nature and are often written with a sardonic flavor. Why is this important, you ask. Well, over the past few months I've begun adopting habits I once associated with adulthood. I keep getting metaphysically slapped in the face with the realization I now do those stuffy, boring, lame things I said I'd never do. I'm in bed by 9:30, 11:00 on a wild night. I prefer listening to NPR over the local top forty stations (well, that's not really new, but you get my point). I dream about my "wasted youth" and yearn for a "simpler time."

"Shit," I say, "horseshit!"

I'm not ready for adulthood. I keep messing up little things and my type A perfectionism is not coping too well. Plus, I was always the most productive and ingenious at around 2 a.m.. I sleep through that time now so I feel my creativity slipping away into the REM cycle. This "grown-up" lifestyle is draining the life from me. Is this really what life is? Sitting behind a desk to earn money to pay off all of the shit that is required for the "American Dream"? I don't need it. I need the ability to be creative.

I'm half tempted to put my tent and my sleeping bag in the back of my car and wonder through this country taking a photo-journalistic approach to my travels. I need to do something that requires me to think about something much less concrete than accounting. I need wiggle room to formulate my own ideas about whatever subject may arise in conversation. I miss the wiggle room of my collegiate youth.

I am an old hag.

Bah.