Bare with me, I’ve been feeling introspective today.

I think I have spent my life preparing to be disappointed by the rest of it.

Did that make any sense? Probably not.

I didn’t like being a kid. Really. I mean, sure I had some fun. But I spent a lot of time waiting.

Waiting till I’d be old enough to stay up and watch Saturday Night Live.
Waiting till I’d be old enough to watch R rated flicks.
Waiting to drive.
Waiting till I’d be old enough that girls my age thought I was cool. You know what I mean.
Waiting to be old enough to buy my own smokes.
Waiting to be old enough to drink in the bar.
Waiting to be old enough that other adults took me seriously,
Waiting to make enough money.
Waiting.

I’ve wanted to be 40 most of my life, I think.
I was too serious to be a kid.

And now I’ve almost grown in to me.

It’s not all I hoped it would be.

Am I depressed? No.

But I realize that I have no idea what I want from life. I mean no clue.

And this leaves me…

well, off balance.

And after years of practice, the conclusion that want to leap to the front of my mind, is that maybe when I’m older it will make more sense.

I can’t help but feel that this day to day bullshit that I endure is meaningless. That I should pack up the wife and kids and just go. Screw having a job. Screw worrying about money, mortgages and bills.

Just go live.

But I can’t. The “what if’s” rush in anytime my mind wanders down that path.

So here I am. Waiting for something more.