The End

Well, my 20th birthday came and went. It was silent, kind of like carbon monoxide poisoning, except I'm not dead. I am one year closer to it though.
My 20th birthday means the end of my carefree teenage years, essentially the only life that I have ever known. Let's face it: I had no clue what life was before I was 11.

So, what now? Do I keep chugging along, hoping one day to trip over some opportunity? Honestly, I have never really challenged myself to accomplish anything. I barely ever tried when I played soccer in high school because making the team was an accomplishment enough for me. I didn't start studying in high school until junior year because it took me 2 years to realize that all of my grades mattered. I fucked up on a lot of things, and I have no one to blame but myself.

Time to grow up and face the music, kid; you're not one anymore. I have no endogenous feeling of jocundity or joy. I'm just existing and I don't like it.

Give me a reason, for fuck's sake.

No, I'm not drunk. Here's something cheerier:


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