OK I admit it. At some point I became a statistic and they didn't have to drag me kicking or screaming either, I went along willing, eager to perform in a subserviant manner, even when my handlers had lost interest. I'd perfected the art of heads down bums up and colon gaping wide open*. All the while acting as if this is all perfectly normal. P-Diddy said it best: Take that, take that, take that.
You'd make a great priest, you know that don't you, but 20 hail Mary's aren't going to cut it this time, and besides, I'm just getting started. I'm the quintessential millennial, not the religious kind, the type of kid born somewhere between 1980-200x, who believes that they're the sun and everything else revolves around them (i.e. me).
I'm Peter Pan with a receding hair line. I managed to avoid adulthood for an inordinately long period of time, never quite got the hang of halting the ageing process though. No, entropy and time's arrow keep double teaming on me like Van Dam and Dennis Rodman from that abortion of a movie Double Team with equally unappealing results. The force of my strained comparisons and movie metaphors is beginning to wear thin as my receding hair-line. Did I already mention the receding thing? I'm not sorry.
Trying at certain junctures has been an absolute revelation. What's that strange tingling sensation? The Satisfaction of a job well done perhaps? Welcome home stranger. Choosing to do stuff, when there's no pressing reason to do so other than you want to seems amazing to me. Hyper achievers would be aghast. I'm just unusually engaged and doing stuff.
*Am I gay bashing? Nope. In certain sectors of the animal kingdom when two males compete for alpha status the winner consummates his victory by sodomizing his opponent. That's what the internet told me anyway.