I just spent thirty minutes on the phone with a little man.
A man with little thoughts and tiny, microscopic ideas.
It's a Thursday, it's too early.
His manners were crude. His voice unpleasant, and his dreams short-sighted.
From this and the words we shared, I gathered that his wife is equally tiny; equally short; equally moronic.
I don't enjoy saying it but this man and this woman - well, I hope they slowly dissolve in their own inadequacies, in their own horrible yearnings until they are dust and they float away.
As dust they are more useful, more pleasant.
It's Thursday, it's too early.
Cold fronts sneak up on you. So do sneezes. So does sunshine. So do thoughts. So does twenty-five. When you're young it's easy to think that age unlocks secrets. I turned twenty-five and the doors are still locked. Nothing spectacular was revealed - still, I expected an enlightened thought to turn up.
The greatest thing about aging is that you become more and more content with accepting the idea that no one really knows what's going on. It's all a very confusing dance in which each person tries desperately to lead. However, that thought; that acceptance is quite humbling, freeing. They haven't done anything I can't do. They haven't learned anything I can't learn. It makes it all a bit easier to go through with that kind of acceptance - the kind that allows you to see through the smoke.
Instead of dwelling on things I have yet to accomplish at twenty-five. I think a much more compelling way to look at this new age I've just been assigned is that I've made it. I've made it to twenty-five and it seems nice. Now, where to go becomes the question.