This is 36.....

   So I'm standing in the aisle of a seven eleven and I'm actually scanning trans fat content on a pre maid turkey sandwich.  And I'm as scanning the health content on this particular breakfast item and I as frantically try to engage myself in a healthy breakfast...... one thought looms on the horizon like a patch of storm clouds; this must be what adulthood must be like.  This must be what thirty six feels like.  Counting of calories, a recurring daydream when I put my foot on the gas of an automobile and escape reason and responsibility for awhile.  This mist be maturity, the point where I want to find my younger stupid self and throttle him but good for making incredible stupid and or poor decisions.  This must be maturity; counting calories and embracing the rebirth of a relationship that I know isn't good for me in the long run.  This is maturity; acting out of need and counting calories and dreaming of some magical utopia where I have the power to do nothing while still fulfilling the adult contract that I'm liable for until I breathe my last.  This is maturity I guess.  I'm Crash Davis, wearily roaming the landscape of the minor leagues of life in search of my reward.  Namely, my call up to the big leagues.  This is my life, this is maturity.  Coffee with processed sweeteners, trans fat awareness, cholesterol counts, Woody Allen like bouts of hypochondria, lottery tickets bought on a whim, thoughts of reinvention, the pondering of what was, a growing romance for baseball, a desire for calm, luggage under the eyes, a deep appreciation of the people who can stomach my company for more than a minute, the scramble to maintain self, work spaces that are my own, bosses who are assholes,  thoughts of escape followed by thoughts of sobering reasoning, rent payments, bills, web MD visits, self doubt, realization and the sometimes inviting blanket of solitude.