May twenty-eight, nineteen ninety eight.
Five days into being twenty-four, I have this to say about it:
It started out beautifully.
But these last few days have revealed the simplest of truths to me--I need some rest.
Two weekends ago, the dearest person in my life graduated from college in Spokane Washington. I flew up there and spent five days with her, going through the process, almost like I was a graduate again myself.
Then she came home with me and spent a week in Portland, preparing to move here in August.
Then I took my brother hiking to celebrate our 24th birthday.
Next Saturday, I'll be rock climbing, and the weekend after that I may climb Mount Hood.
All of this is good and well, except that my house is not clean, my personal books are not balanced, and my friends are starting to wonder if I'm still kicking.
And I'm not complaining. Not everyone is givent the opportunity to live such an active outdoor life.
I guess I just miss 23. It was my golden year. Born on the 23rd, 23 years old.
There's a special magic about the golden year, whether it is when you are six or when you are thirty-one.
But there are 360 days left in this 24th year. I bet if I had a nap, they'd start to get better.
