Can Someone Loan Me a Magic 8 Ball?

They have a name for the syndrome people experience when, upon reaching the cusp in their lives halfway between birth and the grave, they completely lose sense of who they are. It's called mid-life crisis. Wikipedia expands on the topic by characterizing it as "a period of dramatic self-doubt that is felt by some individuals as a result of sensing the passing of youth and the imminence of old age. Sometimes, transitions experienced in these years, such as aging in general, menopause, the death of parents, or children leaving home, can trigger such a crisis. The result may be a desire to make significant changes in core aspects of day to day life or situation, such as in career, marriage, or romantic relationships."

But what's it called when 26 year olds (who, incidentally haven't experienced children leaving home or menopause) experience this phenomenon? They say 30 is the new 20?? Bull shit. Wait, let me clarify: It'd be asinine to say that young people of today aren't offered MANY more opportunities than were those of yester-year--which is probably what started the whole "30 is the new 20 / 40 is the new 30" sentiment in the first place. These days, of course, men and women are free to choose if, when, and how to walk the path of successful career persons, parents, both, or neither. This sense of freedom, coupled with the vast availability of medical technology and health information, has afforded Americans to live life on THEIR terms.

BUT, what happens when all of these choices become too much for one to handle? You may have gathered from my last post, that I'm experiencing a slight ontological meltdown. Just to put it out there, if it's possible anyone's even reading this who doesn't know me, I'm 26, single, no kids...and NO Earthly idea what I want to do with myself.

I feel entirely compelled to add that my my highly intelligent (and arguably telepathic) ex-boyfriend just texted me, for the first time in two months, these words: "look up, you should be happy." (I swear he really did just text that). And when I responded with usual dry sarcasm "why, all I see is the bathroom ceiling?" he then replied "um, the future is an open ticket." Wow.

Despite that highly comforting (if not totally crazy) prophecy, the issue still remains. I don't think I'm alone in the feeling of utter confusion when faced with life's many decisions. Right now, I want to (and feasibly could): be single, be married, be a mother, be childless , own a home, travel the world, live in a great city, live in my hometown again, go to grad school, continue being a career woman, etc... Such chaos! A large part of me yearns for a time when things were simpler, and (*reversal of all feminist movement progress in T minus two seconds*) we didn't have to THINK about what we wanted to do with our lives. Of course, my grandmother has something different to say about it: "You women are so lucky today...you live such exciting lives...I'm so happy to live vicariously through you." The grass is always greener.

We humans will never stop 'til we're satisfied, and my guess is--we never will be satisfied. We're the executors of our own destiny, and consequently, will be the executors of our own demise. We live life as veritable Veruca Salts--wanting and wanting and yearning and striving--not even realizing that all the while, the whole damn show is passing us by. Anyway, until some dramatic epiphany descends upon me, I'll be graciously accepting donations in the form of words of wisdom and divine comments.

"Do not squander time. That is the stuff life is made of."

Wake up. Hit the snooze. Weird dream. Wake up again. Feet hit the floor. Brush teeth. Run a comb through the hair. Examine nude body in mirror. Squeeze both breasts simultaneously. Wash face with mild soap. Look at the clock. Have to hurry. Glaze over eyes slowly fades. Stumble aimlessly between bathroom and bedroom. Grab cell phone. Reach for thoughtfully prepared vegetarian lunch. Yell "goodbye babe, love you!"

Start the engine. Rat race begins. Mind turns to gel. Drive fast. Tell myself, silently "I need to fix those struts." Look toward right to see sunrise conquered by dirty city. Give look of astonishment as asshole cuts me off. Hand dollar to bum at stoplight. Slap on eye makeup at same stoplight. Park car. Carefully place tin foil-like thing in windshield. Walk past ordinary male office worker. Try to circumvent cigarette smoke.

Say hello to enormous receptionist. Wash dirty coffee cup. Pour cup of weak, cheap Sam's Club coffee. Say "hi, how's it going?" "...yeah, it's almost Friday." Scoff silently at co-worker's choice of breakfast. Toast 70 cal slice of whole wheat breat. Drag ass to desk. Smile at people in my immediate vacinity. Talk to co-worker about latest horror film. Eat. Work. Check email. Munch on some almonds. Work some more. Laugh a little. Tune out obnoxious new girl. Open email about cat dressed in little boy's clothes.

Drive home (same rat race- only less tense). Chastise boyfriend for messy house. Water the plants. Change into gym clothes. Gym plan thwarted by horny boyfriend. Have 6.5 minutes worth of sex. Scurry off to gym. 30 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes strength. Wonder what it would be like to date the guy in the blue basketball shorts. Chug heavily chlorinated water. Puruse Travel mag. Cringe at gay circuit music whispering from overhead speakers.

Prepare nutritious snack. Sit on couch. Endure shitty TV show at boyfriend's will. Beat myself up for not being more productive. Counter prior thought by commencing mad cleaning fit. Lay back on couch. Shoot boyfriend dirty look for having smelly feet. Pop birth control. Set up trap to foil mouse. Floss. Look at the clock. Time for bed. Deadbolt the doors. Wash face with mild soap. Examine naked body in mirror. Squeeze both breasts simultaneously. Crawl into soft, purple bed. Think about people I miss. Toss. Turn. Eyes are heavy. Think about work! No- time to think peaceful thoughts.

Wake up. Hit the snooze.....