Birthday musings

As I sit upon the cusp of my day of birth on this fine fall afternoon in the two thousand and tenth year and scribe like a Dickens wannabe, I begin to think about my past and future, particularly whether or not 17-year-old me would be very pleased with how 24-year-old me turned out. Particularly my current job. I know Angela at 17 did not think her future would involve living at home and working in a box office. She thought I would be in New York living the starving artist life with a sassy gay best friend. She's an idiot, I apologize for her.

Actually, I look back on my years and I can't believe how stupid I was. But it's all in retrospect. I will probably muse about my 24-year-old stupidity in 4 years or so, but right now I think I'm pretty smart. You just never realize how much you don't know until it's too late. I mean, I still know that I don't know much, but it's the things I probably hold as important that won't seem so in a few years-oh never mind, I'm confusing myself.

Back to 17 year old me. I really shouldn't be seeking her approval. She was kind of whiny and complained a lot. Well, I complain a lot now, but I don't care about how unfair the world is anymore. I got over it.
But should I be worried about how the 21-year-old me sees me now? She had hopes and dreams and was determined to move to LA and start the horrid process of auditions until some acting or some other theater job panned out for her. She might be a little disappointed. I don't blame her. And she was kind of smart. Well...I guess it was 40% almost there.

I can't help but obsess about my past. It's a lot easier to focus on than my future. And I know that 24 is still a young age and I'll laugh at myself when I'm fifty (if i make it that far, you never know with life) but I feel old, yet I don't feel like an adult. I don't know if you ever will. Maybe the boring people out there do, but I don't want to ask them. I'll only get a long explanation that will eventually turn into something about expense reports and finances. We get it, you have a real job. Good for you. Go and buy a condominium.

I guess I'm just scared of the years passing by me before I can enjoy them. And that I'll be stuck in Santa Barbara in a job I hate except for the people (don't tell on me Genna!) forever and ever. And that I'll be too scared to do anything about it.