Youth Misspent

It is easy.

Too easy.

To count the days or years I wasted as a youth.

So many activities and inactivities prevented or reversed my maturing into an adult . . . or the thing I am now that resembles an adult. It often seems rather tragic in retrospect. But having learned at least a little from my follies, and having taken my regrets to heart in fair measure, I now allow myself to laugh about it as I would laugh at that drunk who walked into the bar the other night and clumsily tried to sit his ass on the bar stool only to fall.

I still run into walls. I do. Less often but with greater force. I still chase prey that can't be caught, but occasionally catch something that satisfies my hunger.

But right now, I have an unquenchable thirst for that amber coloured juice.