That blissful feeling you're supposed to get, that fawn-like excitement, all of it was lost on me. For most people it seems to take forever to get to 21. A month until and they're pretty sure that they should have turned 28 three years ago. Instead of celebrating with friends in a bar, I huddled in a corner in my room, lamenting the fact that if I'm lucky, a fifth of my life is gone forever. It's how I usually spend my birthday, in my Peter Pan fetal position. Luckily, Comic-Con generally absorbs the anxiety I have concerning these fateful days, and I realize that I'm far more comfortable watching the already small sum in my checking accounts swiftly whittled away over five days than think about my birthday. While the current economy has hampered my fiscal security, it does wonders for my overall anxiety, and I'm sleeping better than I have in months.
