-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Correcting for the time it takes the world to turn, I'll be twenty-five in about six hours. Since I'm not going to be awake to bitch about it then -- hopefully, assuming I don't get a call from work dragging me out of beautiful unconsciousness -- I figured I would whine about it now.
Then I thought, what really do I have to whine about?
I have a job. I have a place to live and a roommate whose throat I don't want to rip out. I have friends, and things to do. Books to read. My family is all healthy, knock on wood.
Of course, sitting over in the negative pile are a lot of things I consider more important than most of that. Ambition. The willpower to finish anything I start. A girl.
Mostly I lack willpower. Self-discipline I have, for the habits I'm entrenched in, but no willpower for new habits or new disciplines.
So looking around, I'm twenty-five and don't have fuckall to show for it. No real idea on how to get that far, either.
What I need are some birthday monkeys to give me a swift Converse-covered kick in the ass to help me figure out what I need, what I want, and how to get it.
If I remember correctly, Michelle promised birthday monkeys. So?