25 cent crisis

I have been drinking wine, so if this is sort of jumbled, blame castell del remei and Seth. Here's the thought: there is more than just the midlife crisis. There's the quarter-life crisis. Around the early 20s (Say, 22 or 23) those who are college grads suddenly realize three things: (1) the real world does exist, (2) they are unwittingly a part of it, (3) the only way out of said sucky real world is to die, get rich, or go back to school. The latter two seem the only viable possibilities, since your student loans/credit card debt may be so high that you would get to heaven and the capital one guy would be standing there, making sure you don't get in until that sucker is paid off (or your parents would get the bill, see how high it is, and have heart-attacks themselves).
But seriously, where has all the motivation gone? Like there was a time when I would have 147 things to do in a day, and all would be done by 3am. Now I'll have 3 things to do, and I won't do any, but will stay up till 3am, just to make sure it still exists. It just doesn't seem worth it anymore. The only person watching is me; this is the first time in my life when the only person I really have to answer to is me. And frankly, I don't kick my own ass nearly enough. But regardless, it leaves me depressed to see how little I have accomplished in the short amount of time I've had. And what do I have on my agenda? Nothing. I got nothin'. Grrr. I guess this is the first big test of grown-up-hood: the concept of pulling yourself up by your boot-straps, merely because you know, regardless of the apathy and carelessness around you, that you can and will do bigger and greater things. Now if only I could find my boots...

Opening a Can('t) of worms

Long-term phsysical pain hits twofold: the first is the intial and obvious physical discomfort; the second is the perception of your abilities by your peers. Last night I went to a halloween party (I was Inspector Gadget, complete with the go-go-gadget arms, which were quite the hit I'll have you know) and a friend of mine, in telling a story, let it slip that she had gone kayaking the week before. Now her version of kayaking and mine are very different, but that is not the point. See, she had intentionally not told me, because she knew how much I loved the activity and how much I missed it. She also knew I was frustrated at my inability to do the activities that I love so much, so out of kindness she neglected to share with me her experience. However, her omission was double-edged. It made me feel blaringly and hopelessly handicapped; as if my disability was permanent and so the activities I may have enjoyed in my 'past life' were now unmentionables; like mentioning an upcoming marathon to a paralyzed runner. And it has made me all the more obvious of the activities I cannot do currently, and increases my dispair that I may not be able to do those things ever again. The pain will be terrible, but the limitations and perceptions may be the final blow. I don't want to walk around defeated, but I fear that's the direction my can'ts seem to be taking me.