Not to sound super emo or anything, but I feel as if I’m in a particularly sensitive junction in my life.
With barely two weeks away from my very last quarter at this lovely university and a job market more depressing (but significantly less entertaining) than the latest entry on fmylife.com, I’m especially prone to bouts of nostalgia and a longing for the innocent days of yesteryear and so on and so forth.
Still, even though I’m at the technical prime of my life as a 21-year-old college student and am supposed to be “livin‘ it up“ or something to that effect, there are times when I can’t help but want to skip the whole coming-of-age part of maturation.
If television is indicative of anything, sitcoms have told me that life after college looks something like this: a couple of years as a struggling but carefree 20-something to an up-and-coming professional in my thirties to a polished, high-power businesswoman in my forties.
Nope, sometimes I’d rather just skip the generic post-college lifestyle and just go straight to my golden years.
Really, though, there are lots that old age has to offer. Retirement benefits and early bird specials are just the beginnings of a lengthy list of golden opportunities I plan to take advantage of once I hit the hella hip retirement scene – because what good would old age be if you can’t benefit from all the wisdom earned and experiences experienced?
Here’s the secret: Old age can stand as a valid excuse for nearly anything.
Once I’m of age, I can finally indulge in any eccentric behavior that right now would probably be received with an emphatic “awkward!” by my youthful peers.
For one thing, there’re my pack rat tendencies, something I’ve learned from my own grandparents. Unfortunately, while other kids my age have things they’ve inherited from their Genghis and Pop-Pops like vintage purses or heirloom jewelry, my own kinfolk have a cache of invaluable items such as every microwave they’ve ever owned, regardless of ability to function.
But with a good number of decades under my belt, I could attribute my inability to throw anything away as a move of sentimentality. The same things that could be called a “shitload of rubbish“ would be regarded as precious relics amassed from years of life lived. I figure that this could also benefit my sartorial sensibilities – if I were to keep my clothes now, I could totally fit in with the thrift-shopping, vintage-hunting hipsters once I hit the grandma years, even if the irony becomes lost on my little old lady self.
Additionally, many young adults use alcohol as an excuse to make stupid, truthful and inevitably regrettable statements in the form of drunken confessions, phone calls and text messages.
But when you’re old, you can blame everything you say on borderline senility. Better yet, you can make your grandkids apologize for you.
To be truthful, the past three and a half years spent raging on the weekends and the occasional weekday has finally caught up to me. Getting all dolled up for a night out on the town (and by “town,“ I probably mean sweaty house party) used to be fun. Now, getting ready has become a laborious chore, with my roommates and I recruiting one another to do each other’s hair and makeup. In addition, my endurance for the actual activity of going out has decreased plenty, as I’ve had to “spruce up“ hard liquor with energy drinks as late nights get increasingly earlier and full-day recoveries become more frequent.
RACHEL FILIPINAS loves fmylife.com, but sometimes she wishes they weren’t anonymous so she can picture who she’s laughing at. Send your own stories to rmfilipinas@ucdavis.edu.
