"What the hell am I /
Doing drinking in L.A. /
At twenty-six?"
I can distinctly remember ten years ago spending a whole day listening to Bran Van 3000's "Drinking in L.A.", eating scrambled eggs, and sitting in a rocking chair under a wall-mounted speaker (I was not sober at the time). In the intervening years, I've always wondered where I'd be at 26, and I always secretly hoped my life would be confusion-free and put together by then.
Well, I've hit the big two-six, and I can confidently say that my life is still as perplexing and unfulfilled as ever, but I'm much more comfortable with that fact, if that makes any sense.
Anyways, I guess my point is this: I feel irretrievably, irrefutably old.
1 comment:
Has it really been 10 years? You were obsessed with this song. I remember driving down Balboa listening to this with you. We were going somewhere east-er than I usually travel down that street. Perhaps in search of hamburgers. This wasn't the same summer that we counted down the days until we had to go back to school was it?
And 26 is not irrefutably old. Soon you'll be 36.
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