There are some things that are maybe better off not realizing. Without meaning to (and without wanting to) I have come to the awareness that I am twenty-three years old, that my parents are nearing sixty, and that a number of people I have genuinely interacted with in the past and are connected to me in some way have left the state of being.

When I think about my parents—and it’s not rare for me to think about them; they are among the people that I know I truly love because of the room for pain I have in my heart for them—I wonder if they are truly happy. One if the saddest thoughts I have is of them reaching sixty and feeling an ache for something they could have done but couldn’t. I know that that’s their business, but I’m an unhealthy person that way.

Someone made me realize that I’m at my prime. So now I’m worried that I’m not doing anything about it, and before long I’m a senile and incapacitated bag of wrinkled skin who didn’t do anything when she could. And I actually allow my days to pass this way, wondering, purely unrealized theories and vague wishes of not wanting it to be this way but not knowing how I want it to be either. This is the best way I can put it: I’m in the best shape I’ll probably ever be in all aspects of my existence, and I do not want to wake up one day and realize that I haven’t put that to any use. I’d rather die. So now that I’ve written it down, I’ve figured out what I basically need to do: figure out what it is exactly that I want to do (which I should be capable of fulfilling, of course) and try my hand at things.

And yes, I am unhealthy this way. Aren’t you?

Ever since I took literature classes in college, I have disliked vagueness in any written work. But there you go, a vague post. I can’t put a finger on it yet myself. When I can, I’ll be more specific.