I am Getting Old... Again

I am Getting Old... Again

It's about time I started griping about my age. This month I turn 24. That's not old at all, I agree. That's very young, in fact, that I know. However, when I say that I'm "gettin' old," I mean getting too old to be where I am right now. Life has to move in a schedule, and for an anal worry-wart such as myself, life has to follow a strict schedule. Eeek. I know. But that's just how I am.

I'm just too old to be an undergrad part-timer still, trying to make it. I should have made it by now. Not necessarily financially or anything, but set a track and be moving along it. I've laid down my tracks, but I ain't moving along it. It's stuck. I can't be stuck. I'm aging. I try not to be, but I am bothered. I am bothered by the fact that so many people are just zooming through, scorching and leaving tire marks, and even the slowpokes are getting by, at least step by step. I'm just static. I'm trying to get over this hill called "acceptance into a nursing program" and I'm jumping and hopping with all my might, but I keep landing in the same territory, same place, same no-man's land.

I am severely reminded of James Joyce's collection of short stories, called "Dubliners." Joyce wrote short stories about the Irish who were suffering from their state of poverty, and yet could not get out of it, finding themselves in a mode of paralysis. I am in paralysis. I can't do one thing or another, and it's not so much that I am jealous of my peers, some, who are even graduating from grad schools, although that is one thing that bothers me. It's the fact that I have to say "I can't" and I've never said "I can't." It's always been "I CAN" for me, and I've believed it. Now it's a steep downhill on a mountain of can't and I'm just sliding downwards rapidly into it's low death valley.

So that is why I am saying I am getting too old. I am getting too old to be digging myself out of this hole when everyone else is already building their palace of dreams. I am getting too old to be trying when evidently, it's futile. My fate is telliing me that resistance is futile, and while I rebelled violently -- I am getting old and tired in my mid-twenties. Ah. I am indeed aging.