Ever since Ayn told me about naso-labial lines, I've been looking for them, of course, because you can't stop, and I've especially been looking for them in my face? It bothered me a little bit that I could see them in the mirror, not enough to go out and buy anti-wrinkle face cream or anything, but sort of "Am I getting old?" in the same way that my impending twenty-second birthday worries me. Should it worry me that when I read a book I usually identify with the sixteen year old rather than the twenty three year old? Is that even true? It's hard to tell; I don't know; I haven't paid attention. Should it worry me that I still identify with Peter Pan even if I'm approaching adulthood? Or is that the appeal of Peter Pan, that everyone feels a little bit like a boy who didn't grow up?
I think, in part, some of the reason I like circus people is that they're misfits; they don't fit the stereotypes for their ages -- they haven't settled down and grown up, or if they have they've done it without really doing it. So maybe the answer to my worry is just as straightforward as, well, walking a tightwire (or a slackwire I guess); which remains something that I want to learn how to do. Hah. The edge between childish irresponsibility and dowdy adulthood is narrow, and possibly razor-thin. But I can has metaphor. Maybe that will be my next drabble.