28 is the end of fun

It comes to this at last.

Twenty-eight.

When you're 27, you can rationalize it all away. You can think, 'man, 27 isn't so old! It's so close to 25! I'm still in my mid-twenties!' 

But 28. That's getting dangerously close to 30. When you're 27, you can go out, blow off work and get wasted and backpack Europe and go skydiving all the same time and your boss will laugh and say 'oh well, he's just 27. I wish I did that kind of stuff when I was his age!' But when you're 28, when you leave the trash can on the curb for an extra night, random strangers start harassing you about when you're going to take some responsibility, dressing better, and start a family.

Ok, being a little facetious here.

Actually, I don't really care about my age. I try not to have regrets, and I've been lucky enough to do a crazy amount of things that are important to me in my twenties (live in South America, backpack Europe, dance, make friends, visit twenty-odd countries, graduate college, get some work experience, fall in love, etc.) so I really have no excuse to complain.

So where am I at 28? Living in St. Louis. I'm together with Saori, we're going into our last semester of graduate school at Wash U. We worked this summer in Boston. Suki is old, but still pretty healthy and still chases string and talks vigorously to us. Hopefully a she still has a few years left in her.