Thoughts on Turning 24

Gotta Bring Back This Hair

Those who know me fairly well that my usual response when asked for my age is "Uhh...", and a vacant expression while I haul off mentally and do the math. Sometime in the last little while, I aged up, and it seems like the higher that number gets up out the teens, the less I care.

While I am (for nifty mathmatical reasons) somewhat interested in what turning twenty-five is going to look like, I simply have no real inspiration to devote any mental energy to the idea. Or any other idea.

I've written about maturity and all that before, and I'm not going to go too deeply into that, either, since it's a whole lot of pontificating, ego-stroking and amusement solely to the author. I realize that I have a relatively low readership, but since I've mostly (half-heartedly) tried to make this a weeabu all-about-my-life blog, talking about the ways I do or don't fit my (largely arbitrary) definition of maturity seems to be a faux pas.

Mostly, I haven't really had time to put my thoughts in order on the matter of my age. I haven't had the time to put my thoughts in order on anything! We're so busy at the vault, working out our kinks in scheduling and just plugging along with what the industry calls New Restaurant Syndrome - that unhappy condition of having unanticipated voids in your production process concurrent with unusually high demand for your services. It's the sort of thing that makes the days long, the batteries low, but the wallets happy.

And given a few other issues I'm not going to get directly into, keeping the wallet happy is almost always a good thing. You just can't lose your sight along the way.