Twenty Something

I am approaching a milestone in my life.

Oh, okay, more like a worthless birthday, but whatever.

I am a little unnerved by my upcoming 23rd birthday.  My mother kindly reminded me that I did this whole panic-attack routine last year, lamenting the fact that I would never be 21 again, and I've managed to not fall apart in the past 12 months.  I was sure it would be the same with 23.

Until I turned on the dang radio.

(I know, I know.  The day I find a blog post that is not inspired by XM radio I'll know I've really made it.)

Today's instigator: Blink 182.  And the line...

"That's about the time she ran away from me... Nobody likes you when you're 23..."

Geez, now I'm really thrilled.  You see, I have this small issue with age and the fact that I'll never be 17 again.

If you're reading this and you're under 17, (are there any of you out there, by the way?) you have this whole holy grail of sorts looming in your future that will pass too fast for you to even realize that you've made it to the pinnacle of your life.

I kid.

Kinda.  Think about it.  How many songs do you know that talk about being 25? Or 32?  Or (gasp!) 40?

I mean, 17 has a whole publication, for Pete's sake.  Taylor Swift is perpetually 17 in her songs. The Dancing Queen is only 17.  Liesl von Trapp feels so strongly about her approaching age that she can scale whole gazebo's in one leap.  In Strawberry Wine... oh, nevermind.

You get the point.  I get really sad when I think about the fact that 17 is gone forever.  Maybe I should write a song? It could be called "Seventeen is Gone."

Clever, huh?

Which brings me to my next theory... I have a theory that when we get to Heaven, God is going to offer up a plethora of sorts of characteristics we will get to have for all of eternity.  And since it is heaven, we will all choose perfectly and be forever perfect.  I've long ago decided that I will be tall in heaven, as I have no idea what the world looks like from anywhere higher than 5'2''.  I'm convinced this will happen.

Now I've decided that I will be perpetually 17.  It's about the age I feel, and my interests tend to skew in this direction.  I don't think this is something that will change with time, either.  17 is my soul age, I'm afraid.  I'm certainly not 20, or anywhere close to where I should be given the clock.  There is, however, a large possibility my soul is about 35, but that is a depressing realization that I'd rather skip over.

So, on Friday, when I become unlikeable to everyone, I'm just going to pretend I'm turning 17.

Because I can't miss out on that twice.