  One Year for Every Hour: Birthday Reflections So it comes to this - birthday comes and strips away a year of youth… slaps on a shiny new coat of old. Everything is the same and everything is the same. I keep telling myself that it’s only a year… that the big difference is saying “24” instead of “23”… is it?… am I?? Haven’t I changed? Is this some kinda trick? I have.
I wasn’t losing my hair at fifteen. I know that. I was all about getting feminine stinky on my “hang down”. I didn’t drink and hardly smoked. I masturbated like I would win something if I could just… blow… one… more… load… and I was getting laid on a fairly regular basis. My sex drive could have powered 31 city blocks.
I was wonderfully naïve, impossibly beautiful, and goddamn indestructible. Cruel, really – no one should remember being that young. Who am I kidding? That was nine years ago! That’s all. I have changed.
But when? Everything always looks the same when I glance back just one year. Is the change that subtle? I think it is… I should do something. I should work out. I’m out of shape.
I’m not a big guy… I just want to be able to run a little and not be so worn out or in so much pain after I decide to pick up a piece of sports equipment. I want to be able to wear t-shirts and maybe even show off my arms. Fat people can be cruel. I wish I was one of them. They get all of the attention. Working out will change things.
I should change my diet. Look at the crap I’m eating! I complain about my health and my weight and then I sit down to the culinary equivalent of a swift kick to the “Holy Jehosephat!” (which I undoubtedly deserved)… no wonder I feel like crap. I feel like crap because I eat like crap. I’d get a personal trainer but I don’t have the money. That’s it.
From now on I’m doing 50 push-ups every morning. This time I mean it. I won’t follow through. I never follow through. Not when it comes to this. Maybe one day I’ll be fat and happy.
Acne is gone! From my face anyway. There’s apparently an aggressive colony that’s moved to my back. How sexy is that? I should use a special soap. I should condition my hair.
I’ll pick those up. I won’t pick those up. I never do. I feel like I know myself too well to surprise myself anymore. I’ve got me pegged. I’ll plan and fantasize but, in the end, I won’t.
In the end, I won’t. I’ll explain it away. I’ll find some way to put it off. Maybe I don’t always put it off. I may. I think I do.
I’m lonely. I really don’t want to find someone, though. It’s all about sex. No one talks anymore. What the hell is that about? What?
How big is my what? Are you serious? So now I fall in love with anyone who’s attractive that’ll talk to me. That’ll show me some sign that they’re interested in conversation. I’m pathetic. Am I ranting?
Am I bitching? There’s really no point. I say over and over that there are two options “Do something or do nothing”. I’m not sure of the true of that statement anymore. It sounds true though so I’ll stick with it. I can’t drink anything like I used to in college.
I drink like old men at the bar drink. My friends are too young. I need a vacation from my problems. I’m happy. I know what’s going on. There’s still so much time to make a difference.
To change. To make a difference. To change. I just have to figure out how? I know how. I mean I just have to figure out if I want to go.
I know where I want to go. I just need to know how to get there. I hope it’s not far. Everything is ok – proceed as planned. I think I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll at least be ok.
I got plenty of scotch on my birthday. Sometimes I can be such a child. I think that admission deserves a drink. 24… 23… what the fuck am I complaining about? I’m still young! There’s so much goddamn time ahead of me.
What will I do? Things. How will I do them? Same way I always have. There. That’s better.
Though I should probably at least have a plan. I’m no good at making plans. I never stick to plan. A good blowjob would clear my mind. Someone should get on that. I’m right bored with masturbating… which means I need to put it off for a while.
Tuck that lil’ salve back in the medicine cabinet until next week. Why in God’s name am I sharing this? :::CENSORED::: I should watch more TV… become more MTv… then I’ll feel younger. I worried about being “regular” for the first time. I considered Rogaine. What’s happening to me?
:::breathing::: One year for every hour. That’s how old I am. I think I maybe should start getting ready for 25. That’s a number I can work with. I’ll be happy then. But it won’t last.
It never lasts. ::chuckle:: -- Dexter Otis Green 
