You were kind of fat.
Not like, super fat,
but there is definite chunk happening in those early photos.
And the middle photos.
And even some of the late photos.
Drink, drank, drunk - all achieved ad nauseum.
Drinking became fun again.
Throwing up out of cabs fun.
waking up in my own vomit fun.
That doesn’t sound like fun.
And then it wasn’t fun.
But by the end it was fun again.
My, oh my, twenties, you really were distraught.
There was much hand wringing.
And letter writing.
To boys who never intended to make you love them.
And boys who never knew you existed.
I hope they don’t still have those letters, twenties.
Because some day, if someone reads those letters to me-
I’ll be embarrassed.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I’ll think it’s funny that I wrote a free verse poem to
Marcus Russell about how he broke my heart.
And actually gave it to him.
And he kept it.
We moved a lot, twenties.
I only wish I could have made it an even ten for some reason.
That’s not a regret.
Just a wish for symmetry.
I don’t really remember the beginning part of you anymore.
I see the fat photos and think -
What was I eating?
And then I remember how Jack in the Box became a regular feature.
Morning, noon and night.
And how I would order a Diet Coke with my Super Sized Jumbo Jack.
That makes me think the early part of you, twenties, was a bit…
The middle part -
Grad school was awesome.
And then I hated it.
And then I loved it.
And now I’m paying for it.
And honestly -
I wouldn’t do it any differently
Because if I never went to grad school.
I never would have met Jen
And then I wouldn’t have been set up with Louie.
Which brings me to the end part.
I owe a lot to the end part of you, twenties.
Mostly because wine became palatable,
But also because my friends started aging
and they did it sort of awesomely.
And I fell in love.
For the first time.
I didn’t know it would be like this.
I’m glad you’re over, twenties.
I liked you, sure.
But, I didn’t “like you” like you.
You were over rated, twenties.
I’ll say it.
It wasn’t awesome like the movies make it out to be.
It was more -
And super fun.
And then hangovery.
And self conscious.
Like my teens, except with credit cards and my own apartment.
I’m not really going to miss you, twenties.
I mean. Maybe a little.
But not as much as some people do.
You’ll get over it.