It is easy to admit that I can be impatient with others, which is wrong, but I hardly acknowledge that I am impatient with myself. Whoever willingly notices self-inflicted injuries? Those are embarrassing.
"What happened to your arm?!"
"I, uh...nothing."
"But it's bleeding! Why are you bleeding?"
"Blood means life. It's a good thing I'm alive."
"Are- are those puncture wounds?"
"Vampire."
"On your arm? And there are four holes right next to each other! What happened? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No. No hospital."
"What happened?!"
"My fork couldn't find my mouth."
"Why are we still friends?"
But in all seriousness, if it's wrong or rude to be impatient with others, why should I allow myself to be impatient with myself? Why can't I wait? I don't even know where I'm heading, so why rush? I've never liked travelling quickly anyway. I like taking my time, and learning from anything, everything and from anyone I can.
(Which would explain why I can never walk slow or fast enough; talk about walking to the beat of my own drum!)
If my twenties are my prime years, then I should live them well. Sure, I'm always told to 'live while I'm young'; never to take for granted my youth and all the opportunities presented to me, but success isn't reserved for a certain age. Besides, all of my heroes weren't 'famous' or 'successful' until they were much older than my age now. I have my whole life ahead of me. I've had my whole life ahead of me.
You have your whole life ahead of you!
Worry never got anyone anywhere--just a bad case of heart palpitations.
So, I'll live my life well: starting with reading vintage Peanuts comic strips [;
Hey! Snoopy can teach me a lot, and I don't have to pay tuition!
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| @Snoopypins |
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