By twenty-five I was supposed to be living on my own, done with school, firmly set in my career choice, an award winning writer, and possibly married with a kid or two.
At twenty-six I am living with my parents, I have at least another semester of school left, I work as a cashier, I can't seem to finish anything I start writing, and I'm painfully single.
I swear I didn't think I'd start losing my hair until I was at least forty, I can't stop thinking about how I'm not as thin as I used to be, I'm not sure if I hate driving on the highway because the other drivers make me nervous or because being around so many other people just makes my social anxiety kick in, I'm worried the cup of coffee I drink in the morning is going to give me heart problems when I'm older, I'm worried that the fact that my room's a mess and all I ever seem to do all day is lay in bed and watch YouTube videos is a sign that I'm about to enter a strong depression, I'm afraid of becoming one of those old lonely men that tell you their life story while waiting in line at the grocery store, I'm afraid I'm going to become complacent with my current place in life, I'm afraid of becoming more and more cynical and jaded, I'm worried that my over worrying is going to give me health problems in the future, I think I think too much.
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