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When you’re a 20-something, you feel like you’re falling behind, even when you are far ahead.

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I know that there are going to be days when these decisions seem impossible to abide by; there is no such thing as a perfect person. However, it’s a long journey ahead, and it’s about the paths I decide to take, not the end result.

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What am I saying? It’s in my bag. Of course, let me just dig around in here. Well, I don’t feel a twenty. Stop. Let’s do this logically. I’ll just dump everything in my bag out on the table. There’s my lip balm, oh that’s where I put those headphones, now if I could just find—no, it’s not in here either!

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While I do a damn convincing wine-sipping, side-banged yuppie impression, the 16 year-old teenybopper inside is constantly trying to make an appearance. At 24, it was still sort of acceptable and kind of cute and endearing. But now? Tragic failure. Thus, I hereby vow to cease the following activities, effective the eve of my 25th birthday (maybe).