Twenty-Five Years of Mostly Nonsense

As of about five minutes ago, I’m 25. One quarter of a century. Which apparently means I’m now wise, composed, settled—a fully formed man standing confidently in the middle of his life, unshakeable and definitely no longer childish in any meaningful sense.

Yeah. None of that. I’m going to drink champagne, let the birthday messages rain down, and look forward to the next quarter century. I am so incredibly great.