the big 2-0.

Yes. I am 20. Twenty. Twentytwentytwenty.

I am eating Teddy Grahams and pondering how such a seemingly innocuous age can feel like the existential equivalent of 50.

Oh man. I think it's my mindset as of late. Before, when I used to be depressed, it was because the world was stupid or I felt momentarily empty. Now, it's because I'm strapped under the massive burden of my future, and I'm all too likely to be a colossal failure. At least that's how I perceive it; and that's not really a terribly outlandish fear, as I dream big dreams.

The thing is, though, I'm a commitment-phobe. If I feel the least bit tied down to something, I struggle until I'm free and then run and attach myself to something new and exotic. It's a bad habit. I'm addicted to the novelty--the opportunity to keep the door open.

I've only encountered a few things in my life that I haven't grown fatigued with, or dropped for fear of them cutting off other options, and those have understandably had a considerable impact on me as a person (writing is one of them).

Throughout my life so far, this has been okay, because everyone has always said, "You have time!" And then I relax. And read a book. Or study. Or fall securely into something else for a while.

But now, now is the time when I'm actually supposed to be going, "Oh, yes, that. That's what I'd like to devote myself to fully." I have serious trouble doing that. I feel trapped far too easily. I look around and see the everything I can't simply devote myself to, and I panic. I study Hindi and I panic for not studying Russian, or something. I get embroiled in environmental problems, and I start worrying that maybe I abandoned literature too rapidly.

What happens to people like me? Those who really just can't get no satisfaction? If others exist, they certainly don't get their problems put into sitcoms or easily solved in movies. Until they have problems getting married.

Maybe the problem is just that I'm not a specializing kind of girl. I fear the work week.

I don't know. I just know that 20 throws these issues into sharp relief the way 19 never did. Teenagers are allowed to be confused. Once you hit the twenties, I think you're supposed to figure it out. Oops.

ANYWAY.

Happy birthday, me. I got to talk to some friends, which only makes me think more than I already do about how much I miss them. I LOVE you guys. More than cheesecake.

In more exciting news, I'm going to Phoenix in a couple weeks! Turns out my mother's promise to get us out of here was sincere. Her brother, his wife, and their six kids (count 'em--girl, girl, boy, boy, girl, girl) live out there. I WILL SEE A CACTUS. And, more importantly, the sun.

CHECK IT: