I Don't Wanna Grow Up

I'm such a geek.

I'm a geek with some sort of psychological disorder. I refuse to grow up. If I grow up, then I grow old, and then I die, and if I'm lucky I might be able to sire some offspring before I am removed from the gene pool.

My self-diagnosed psychological disorder has little to do with not wanting to grow up. What it does allude to is some sort of attention-deficit-combined-with-obsessive-compulsive-tendencies mixed-in-with-a-healthy-dose-of-depression-and-insomnia. But that's another story for another time.

As a child, I did not partake in organized sports like the majority of my peers. I was considered the "strong, silent type", and spent most of my time alone, being creative or brooding. Spending much of my time alone, I developed countless hobbies and interests -- so many that I could not become highly proficient in any of the endeavors, as I quickly became bored or impatient. I, like every child, expected immediate progress, or immediate results. In some ways, it amazes myself that I managed to become a professional musician, given the amount of dedication, commitment, practice, and discipline to develop the necessary skills in order to become a skilled musician. I suppose I could dismiss it to having a high degree of natural talent and ability.

Simply because I am so busy that I do not have the time to do much of anything, I thought this was the perfect time to resurrect an old hobby of my childhood. This must be definitive proof that I am clearly insane, as a normal person should know his or her limits of what one can accomplish in a given day. I, on the other hand, figure that things such as food and sleep are merely obstacles in my way from getting everything done that I want to, and given the fact that I am in my early thirties, and I can only expect forty of fifty years of quality living before I leave this mortal coil, time is running short. Still, I have said this before -- and I will state it again, that in order to get everything done I need to in my lifetime, I will have to live at least another three hundred years.

Hence, a partial reason why a refuse to grow up. In my own twisted way, I am stopping time dead in its' tracks. Too bad father time isn't heeding my kicks, screams, and incessant pleas to please slow down!

I should consider playing with my toys again.

Come to think of it, having children of my own would provide justification for playing with toys again. I could explain to everyone else that I am spending "quality time" with my children; and they would consider my behavior as normal. Little would they know that I am playing with toys for the sake of playing with them, quizzically with a bottle of whiskey in hand.