Playtime's over

Man. Growing up has some incidental perks, like being allowed to smoke and drink and not having to hide your birth control pills from your parents, but overall I'm not so sure it's worth it.

Like, paying bills. Paying bills just sucks. Like, even if you have the money and it's not a struggle, you still have to remember to turn everything in on time, balance your checkbook (ummm... yeah... thank GOD for online account balances and Check 21!), etc. Sure, you can set up automated bill pay for most internet and phone services, cable, and some electric companies, but that doesn't take care of credit cards, car payments, insurance, loans, or rent. That's one hell of a lot to keep track of. Especially when certain companies don't bother even sending you your statements and then sic collection agencies on you to recover their whole sixty dollars, which has now ballooned into 130 dollars after late fees and interest charges.

Or, obviously, work. I mean, you can't pay those bills without an income. Sometimes work can be interesting or even, in a way, fun, but a lot of the time it's just work. And, most frightening of all, it means no more three-week Christmas vacations, no more spring break, and no more summer vacation. I don't know if I'll be able to deal with just two to three weeks of vacation a year.

And, something that doesn't always go hand in hand with growing up, but often does: getting older. The other day I was having a conversation with a friend of mine who's a few years older than I am. I've always been The Young One in my group of friends since I skipped a grade in high school and went straight from college to law school. This particular friend has often teased me for my youth -- things along the lines of "that must have been before your time." She's always made a point of being of being The Older One. But in this particular conversation she said to me "I can say it now: WE'RE so old!" I immediately ran to the mirror, horrified, and searched my eyes for lines. Sure enough, they're starting to form. Thank God I color my hair, or else I'd be worried about grays.

To add to it, Dad turned 50 yesterday. I know 50 isn't all that old for parents, since I'm the oldest and my parents had kids on the young side, but still, to me it's another sign that my parents -- and therefore I -- are aging. Making matters worse, his father, who's been suffering from liver cancer, passed away yesterday afternoon. And I heard my dad cry. For what well may be the first time in my life. I think it's one of the scariest sounds I've ever heard.

So Dad has to go be a grown-up for his mom. Mom has to be a grown-up so Dad can deal. Now that half my grandparents are gone my parents inch closer and closer to being the oldest living generation in my family, which would make me one old kid. That won't happen, though, since in a couple of weeks, I never get to be a kid again. I'm gonna miss it.

Screw it -- I'm buying myself a year-long Disneyland pass. And a five-dollar churro.