TWENTY FOUR.

24 HAS COMPLETELY MIND FU*KED ME

I realize I am no longer a girl but a woman “nesting” in a one bedroom apartment, with no diamond, no child, and no man which I find most women yearning for, which at age 16 to 23 seemed like a fuc*in dream to me too. Lately, instead of counting the minutes on my fertility clock I spend hours pondering all the reasons why I shouldn’t smash the shit out of it; Becoming fully aware there are no chains binding me to anything or anyone, I no longer see the perfect partner, the perfect place to settle, or the mini-me that at one time I so badly yearned for. The childbearing hips still reside, but no child. I see me, alone, in many unfamiliar places just passing through. I fantasize about beautiful faces I will soon encounter. I day-dream of their stories, lust for life and thirst for adventure quite like mine.

   

I then think of all the relationships I’ve lived in, trying to change that person's hair into the waves of the ocean, their eyes the stars I longed to gaze elsewhere, their body mountains I’d only wish to climb. Blaming them for not fulfilling my needs, blaming them for being human. Blaming myself for never being able to settle. At age 24, I’ve learned that the fulfillment I’ve been looking for is no longer in just one mind, one body, or one person for that matter, but in myself and myself alone.  

I am starving for new scenery and an intellectual conversation opposed to carbs and calories.  I am sick with an extreme case of the travel bug when the ones around me are in bed with the common cold. I sit here with symptoms of angst and freedom fever. I now pinch my pennies in hopes that Abraham Lincoln may sympathize with me, and teach me self-restraint along side wisdom to pursue this new life long journey.

“In the end, its not the years in your life that counts. It’s the life in your years.”

-Good Ole Abe Himself