And now everything around me is a passive, vague and tolerable uncertainty. Uncertainty about whether I'm still a teenager or jovial, and inevitably, a nobody in the capitalist jungle. What makes me realize one of the few things that define a mental age are the priorities that one must be true. Be able to sleep at a friend's house for eight years is as important as your girlfriend comes to sleep with yours to sixteen as to have a place to sleep for thirty (Children eight years that follow my blog: I do not no never, be more overvalued).
Shame to accept that, but make fun of girls to boys dedicate their fotologs more passengers than the flu, making it perhaps would hope that I dedicate to you. The desire to keep discovering new places and drinking beverages that they blend with the apathy of study, work and stay home because your teenage has passed. Fear to see that you've gone from being the kid who most wanted to hit at concerts the guy who folds his arms in the front row in the overwhelming shitting children moving. The stupid security that you've tried everything good in this life, and now you have only scattered responsibilities passing amusement.
But twentysomethings, let us not fool ourselves. I remember when I was fifteen I also thought I had seen everything, and it happened again at sixteen, seventeen and eighteen. Y (in retrospect, always in retrospect) that it was looking asshole. In these four or five years I have discovered the kebabs, ryanair , anal sex, the dark tower and other great hits that I make sure that in the next discover more things that I will consider how young and inexperienced was twenty. May not be as fun. Maybe it's the mortgages, job insecurity or treatment addiction to solvents. But with the best companies I have come to be, we will face these and many other vicissitudes as usual: cagándonos on neoliberalism, depending on the meter and laughing at those people who are worse off than we . I promise me fable fer-ho, each pin, each llit.
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