Twenty was a pain in the ass...
... oftentimes, so are twenty-year-olds. I'm enjoying thirty. I have fewer insecurities and more accomplishments to speak of, and follow my judgement more than my feelings.
I tend to think I was a bit of an asshole from the ages of 18-23. I don't entirely blame myself for being as selfish, arrogant and cold as my surroundings made me, however. Whether it was the death-stained, loveless home in the sterile suburbs of Montgomery County or the succession of hoods and hick towns it spit me out into, I didn't sense much place for ideals.
I don't really look back on youth with much nostalgia. On top of a body and brain addled by hormonal bullshit, I was always in an unstable and vulnerable situation with similar people my own age. Between the ages of fifteen and thirty, I worked nearly one hundred fucking jobs. I would still get a chip on my shoulder I wasn't in school all that time if I weren't in school and doing well now.
At thirty, I'm taking classes, in a happy relationship, I'm self-employed, and I don't really have to answer to anyone. I run and rent an obscenely nice home studio, I have a beautiful house to myself, and two of the cutest, sweetest cats on the planet.
I'm living in the same area I lived ten years ago, now that I think about it. It contains alot of memories for me, good and bad. I feel like I've lived all over the world since '98, but I've only bounced from city to city within Maryland. You'd think I would've gotten the fuck out of here by now, but I guess I'm comfortable enough to post myself in Mount Rainier for another five years. Hopefully I'll start seeing other countries soon enough. I at least need to see other states. Travel good. Stagnation Bad.