When I Grow Up

This week I moved into my first condo. At work, I’m somebody’s boss. I have chronic lower back pain and when I’m sitting down my belly droops slightly over my belt. I pay my own bills. When I was young and talked about growing up, I’m sure I had no idea what I was talking about. Growing up was a way to talk about the time when I would no longer be the same. When I had moved out of the phase I was in. I may have talked about “when I grow up” but rarely about “when I’m old.” I’ve moved out of whatever phase that was, but I feel old much more than I feel grown up. Since I’ve lost youth, I suppose I must BE grown up, but I don’t think I’m A grown-up. This topic doesn’t seem to be working out well. Maybe I’ll try the Jewish theme and see if that gets me anywhere.
The most interesting thing about the previous post is that the author places himself on the side of the Jews. No matter how detached from any certain identity we might be, an attack on that piece really brings it back. Especially when it’s convenient and full of comic value. I haven’t really been Jewish for years, but if someone told me that my piece of trash plastic bag yarmulke fell off, well, fuck him and the nazi horse he rode in on. Nope, this one’s not working either. Let’s try another.
I need a hobby. I believe that both of my colleagues on this highly rated blog have one or more things that really drive them, that consume their free time and are fulfilling and productive. I don’t have that. What must it feel like to have something like that?
This is so sad, because I've had so many fantastic thoughts this last week, and now I'm just drizzling.