This Must Be What Dying Feels Like

Today I found my first grey hair. I am a few months shy of 29 years and I find a grey hair. I still don't know how to apply eyeliner. I look at people my age and younger who have made something of themselves. I still want my mommy. And here is this little grey hair, mocking me. Your greatest fear is approaching at a fast speed and you have nothing to show for your time. It seems to say. Do you have something you are passionate about? People use that word a lot to describe themselves; much in the same way they describe a great experience as being "epic." It doesn't really work. There are some though who really do have a passion for something. They love something so much that they devote their lives to it. Usually it's politics. Veganism. Cats. They make for incredibly boring company. Then again, I'm passionless and I'm just about as useless as pants at a party. Alliteration aside, I cannot imagine being passionate about something. To have it, to feel it, to warrant it. I'm basing all this under the assumption that in order to have a passion for something one must be GOOD at it. That eliminates every thing for me. It is important to note that it is not a two-way street; just because one is good at something doesn't mean they are passionate about it; all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares. At any rate, I suppose I should get back to my purpose in life: to consume and then die.