Monday, April 18, 2016

21 Going on... 90.

I boast a humble 21 years of existence, but I think I possess an old soul.  I like traditional ways of thinking, I regard the trivialities of younger generations with a twinkle in my eye, and I like being around old people (my parents).  And people say that I act well beyond my age, to which I blush and modestly reply, "Oh, I could never equal your wisdom and grace."  And then they applaud my savvy response and decide to associate with me more often.  And then I feel like the mature, intriguing darling of my community.

And I like it.  

I feel more comfortable talking to "older" folks.  I find them interesting, funny, wise, and kind.  They give great advice, too.  After I win them over with my wide-eyed, charming smile look, I engage in their conversations and astonish them with my intellectual prowess.  My process kind of sounds like a seduction; I promise it's not.  Did I mention that humility is one of my finer virtues?

I take a breathtaking number of pills like older folks.  When I upped the dosage of lithium and was prescribed another pill to offset side effects, I decided to reward myself with a fancy, daily pill box to keep track of everything.  I told my mom that I wanted one.  She gave me a weird look, laughed at me, and said I was a dork.  On the contrary, I feel like a champion. 

I play old people games, too.  My mom and I geek out over Bananagrams.  We have tournaments and get scarily competitive.  We admire each other's ability to produce longer words.  We have our phones by our sides, so we can quickly use a dictionary to look up a word.  When my mom and I went on a cruise together, the younger folks were partying, dancing, hot-tubbing, and drinking.  My mom and I played Bananagrams in the Shakespeare Library and ate carbs.  
Some of my words are of...questionable content. 

But something happened, today, that made me feel stupid, juvenile, immature, and childish.  

I screwed up my taxes.  Apparently, today is the last day for taxes.  Apparently, I did something wrong with my paychecks and the W-1234-lmnop forms.  Apparently, the IRS could have busted down my front door to take me to jail.  Thankfully, my dad (one of my favorite old folks) came to the rescue.  He was, of course, the one to point out my tax knowledge inadequacies.  We went to visit a guy in Manti who could fix my mess.  I went back to his house later to pick up some documents and apologized for my stupidity.  And you know what he said? — "You know... the accountants who do the best in their graduate programs are English majors."

Hmmm... maybe after my masters, I'll go into accounting.  And then, once I can successfully do my own taxes, I be the greatest old person-soul-brain ever.  

The end. 

PROOF.  This photograph is, like, 50 years old. 


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