End of Summer Depression--Vol. 1: Have I Passed My Best?

My very first-ever marquee...how cute

At the end of every summer, I start to get a little depressed. It's not just the impending school year (which I just realized I will have hanging over me every summer until I retire...sigh), and it's not the convenience of turning one year older at the end of every summer (only 6 shopping days left!), it's so much more. I think it's hereditary (more on this at some future date).

Anyway, I get depressed about all of the things I was going to do with my freetime that don't happen because of many things, but usually because of television and sleep. On my death bed, I'll be well rested and able to quote from a ridiculously large score of shows, but I don't think that will make me too happy.

Amongst other things, I didn't lose the weight I planned on losing, I didn't learn a single word of spanish, I didn't master either the mandolin or the dulcimer, and I've recorded exactly 0 songs. I wrote one half of a play, but I didn't think it was very good.



And then I have so many reminders thrown in my face. Liriano will probably win the Cy Young and Rookie of the Year, and he's fucking younger than me. Marx had written the Communist Manifesto and had it translated into seven languages by this time in his life. And I ain't done shit.

But at one point, I was in a band with dreams of global dominance, I was leading a movement we all thought was going to end the war, I was a regular feature performer in seevral theaters, and if you notice in the picture below, I had a ring on a certain finger that holds special signifigance in Western culture.



Has my life already peaked, with me not even quite 24 years old yet? Am I destined to forever look back and think that those were the days? Am I already the overweight middle-manager who hates what his life has become? Or am I rediculous for thinking these things at this point in my life? Sigh...I hate youth/young adulthood/quarter-life crises.