The Perks of Being a 22-Year-Old

I thought I became an adult when I turned the legal age of 18. Then, I thought I became an adult when I turned the wise, non-teenage age of 20. One year later, I was told that I am only now finally an adult for being admitted into bars. Now, I am 22.

Now, at the age of 22, I receive teasing remarks from others about my young age on the daily. Somehow, conversations make their way to my being 22. What's up with that?! For example:

Scenario 1.

Me: "Oh, what a nice kitchen you have!"
Them: "April, have you never been in an apartment of someone over the age of 22?"

Scenario 2.
Me: "Hmm, decaf coffee, I'm not sure that I've ever had that before... I always tend to opt for caffeinated."

Them: "Let me guess, you are still in your college student mode of needing coffee all the time."

Scenario 3.

Me: (Posts on Facebook at 12 AM)

Them: "Staying up late on a school night?! You young'n."

**Answer Key: sc. 1. yes, I have; sc. 2. caffeine is my drug of choice; sc. 3. I don't have to go in to teach until 9:10am, so I can sleep by 1AM, still get 7.5 hours of sleep, and make it to class on time.

= = =

The following list is my defensive knee-jerk reactions to your haterade.

The Perks of Being a 22-Year-Old (5 total)

• 8 more prime-of-my-life years
• Only/1 whole year of experience of bar customer etiquette under my belt; I get to hang with the big boys, yet my n00b questions like, "what's a screwdriver?" and "what's the difference between a lager and an ale?" are still excused
• My every misstep is attributed to my "naiveté" by 23-year-olds and older; my mistakes are viewed as"cute, albeit well-meaning"
• Any somewhat meaningful observations I make cause others to see me as wise beyond my age (again, of 22)

= = =

Much love to my older friends & readers out there. You know I'm just playin with ya'll and that I take your teasing as a sign of affection. I shall hate on you back. And so it will be. For the rest of my life, probably.

Tough Stuff

You know when i write a blog post like this that it was a tough day..

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ways i've improved/changed

-I haven't cried after class in.. well, at least a month.

-I'm LESS afraid of meetings with parents and RSPs

-"there is no 'should be', only what 'is'"

-I (try to) focus on the help that others are giving me rather than the help that I think I am not getting

Untitled

When we think of the "have-nots", what don't they have? Family, love, work, a sense of purpose, food, clothes, shelter... all the important and basic necessities that allow life. Living.

I'm a "have". I am.

So what am I complaining about?

OK, not complaining, more-so analyzing. Is this crazy, endless schedule of tasks, activities, and homework life? In times that I'm not happy, does it point to the fact that this isn't life, or that I'm living too much?

Stress, physiologically speaking, is supposed to be a good thing. Granted, as with anything else in life, too much of it is harmful. I've said nothing profound.

But when is it too much? It was too much freshman year, when I was sad, frustrated, and anxious seemingly all the time. Right now.. it's less frequent, but it's cyclic. Talk about maximizing resources, I seem to be working with the belief that it's never enough until I'm breaking down.

And in between those times of mild breakdowns, I'm working. Is there much to be said about finding joy in working? Because I do, sometimes. My dad always said that if I find a job that I enjoy, then I'll never have to work a day in my life. Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever we decide to call these activities that fill my time, it still leaves me exhausted and depleted of... I don't know. Everything.

Is there much to be said about finding ways to work during what would-have-been down times? That I choose not to eat lunch and dinner with friends many times because I find it too necessary to finish some work while I take my meals?

Me: "I want to quit."
Him: "Quit what?"
Me: "Everything. I want to run away tomorrow morning, withdraw from school and drop out of every organization, and go somewhere where no one will rely on me for anything. I'm done."
Him: "You're work is appreciated. People are counting on you because they know that they can. If you need help, that's what I'm here for. That's why we're here for each other."

So, with that... He wiped away my tears, I took a shower, brushed my teeth... and got back to work... slept for 3.5 hours and, again, got back to work.

It never ends. And, I guess, if this is me living life to its fullest, it never will.

Get Out of Here, Poli Sci 4!

Am I just cranky, or what?

Listening to a lecture about Paine's "Common Sense" right now, and I'm getting hella annoyed by Paine's philosophies. It gets difficult to simply sit quietly in class and let this professor talk at me about the novelties of revolutionary American thought.

To paint a pretty little picture, my professor is a middle-aged, petite, white woman who always dresses as though she is a politician attending a funeral. She projects her husky voice with overbearing assertion; her voice is surprisingly big for such a small woman. If one were to look (or listen) past her demeanor, her words suggest that she was hired by the government to act as official cheerleader of American politics. Ugh. Slay me.

Speaking of pain... Listening to political theories aimed only at 18th century WASP men as outlined in Common Sense is not and should not be applicable to today. While it is important to learn of the history of politics, the teacher does not encourage our diverse, powerful community of students to compare these outdated ideas of equality to modern concerns. She does not encourage my classmates to reflect on the hypocrisy in today's foreign affairs as compared to America's very foundations.

If I were to give Paine the benefit of the doubt and not assume that he cares only for the "rights" of Christian white men, if Paine were alive today he would be fighting on the side of Palestine, of the Middle East, of everyone that hegemonic, (arguably) imperial, capitalist America is against today.

Thomas Paine, a terrorist? Damn straight. Of course, today, what do we call terrorists that win the war? Revolutionaries.

T. Paine: a rose by any other name... still dead.