I just heard screams coming from downstairls. Sigh. I guess Apolo just won Dancing With The Stars. My life at home runs on a carefully-caculated TiVo schedule. (By the way, did you vote for Jordin? Did you? Did you? Did you?!?!) I look at my parents with their Dream Dinners and TV trays, testing out rash creams and counting down the days until retirement, and I’m startled to see my future. Who would have thought I’d get here so soon?

I am getting old. I try to kid myself by watching Reese Witherspoon movie marathons and painting my toenails hot pink, but the fact of the matter is, THIS IS THE END. I look in the mirror and my eyelids are all droopy. I almost died tonight in Turbo Kickboxing. My cellphone doesn’t even flip.

Last Saturday, a group of us went to eat dinner at Musha. Afterwards, we couldn’t think of anything to do, so we stood in the parking lot talking. My 22-year-old sister who joined us that evening had long left us for a party in Hollywood. We were jealous. I declared to my friends, “We have to stay out until at least 11 tonight!” I looked at my phone, which read 10:24. I shrugged and said, “We have to stay out until at least 10:30!” They chuckled and we all parted ways at 10:28.

Where did my 20s go? I guess I’d have to partly blame the disappearance on employment. But, ya know, I’m not really complaining. This is more like, well, a passionate observation. I like my life. I feel like things are really falling into place. I just wish they wouldn’t bolt down so freakin’ fast.