I went to the doctor this morning. That's right, the doctor. It was the first time I had seen this doctor, since she was supposed to be my doctor last year but had to pass me off to someone else since one of her patients was having a baby or some such nonsense.

She had a student in tow, a nice little third-year medical student who looked all of about sixteen. My doctor left her alone with me to do the little pre-interview, going through the list of diseases and asking if I had any of them. We bonded over graduate school, and I got to pretend that three years of law school is just like seven years of medical school. I couldn't help but notice that I really am getting older, because even though she was a third-year and that would put her somewhere around 24, she looked really young, and it made me nervous. Plus it was her first day at the Women's Health department, therefore mine would be the first... well, you get the idea. I'm sure she was just as nervous as I was.

The actual exam went fine, thank you very much. I'm glad to report that everything appears to be in its proper place and functioning well. And really, once you get over the embarrassment of being quite... exposed, in a room with four other people you've never seen before, then it doesn't seem like such a big deal. Truly, it only sucks for like two minutes, and then you can go back to being your normal modest self for a whole year.

So, not only did Elise enter the Oscar Pool (which reminds me: why haven't YOU?), she also gave me permission to link to her very own website, which is basically an online resume. Now you find out her real name (oh, the excitement) AND you can see all the cool things she's done and how it really would have been helpful if I had told her about this journal from the very beginning because then it probably wouldn't suck visually.

Oh, and I get to pimp her company, too. So if you're in the market for a cell phone, check it out, or I won't let you read me anymore.

I was reminiscing this morning on the way back from the doctor. (I go to the Chocolateville Medical Center, which is about a 40 minute drive.) I had popped in a CD called "These Are Crazy Times" by Boom Crash Opera, which I obtained in 1992, and got to thinking about how 1992 was maybe the best year of my life.

It's kind of sad, to think that not only is the best year of your life behind you, but it's EIGHT YEARS behind you. But in 1992, I was happy and carefree like some giggly zit commercial.

At least, that's how it seems now. But I think for the most part it's probably true. I was 20, a junior in college. I had a cool job in a bank where I worked with nice people. I had three roommates who all got along, in a bitchin' third-floor apartment with four guys in the first-floor apartment to hang out with. We watched basketball games and "Days" together. We wrote four checks for a $30 electric bill. We went skiing for spring break and met ski bums who showed us a night on the town. I never ever got stressed about school because I didn't care that much. It was the first election year I ever really cared about because it was the first one I was going to be able to vote in. There were so many perfect spring days laying out on the lawn behind our apartment, perfect spring nights smoking on the balcony. There was one particularly perfect spring day with nine of us at the amusement park, followed by dinner on the grill at my parents' house.

I spent the summer in Ohio working at my father's television station for free, and because he thought it would be a good experience, he paid for my entire summer. I visited Kay in St. Louis for 4th of July, she visited me in Dayton later that month for a Harry Connick Jr. concert. I spent two weeks in Hilton Head, and Mary came to visit me there, just like she did when we were 13 and 15.

That fall I went back to school for my senior year, back to the bitchin' apartment, back to two of the old roommates and one new one, and three of the old boys and one new one downstairs. I started to get bold with a friend's fake-ID, and we went dancing until 3:00 in the morning. On nights I wasn't bold, I would pick people up from the bars and make them grilled cheese sandwiches. I turned 21 on a Saturday; we had a party on Friday night, went out at midnight, then went out again Saturday night.

I had absolutely no responsibility whatsoever. No loan documents. No bar exam applications. No job pressure. My life was only full of things I wanted to do, and if there were things I didn't want to do, I could do them half-assed and get away with it, because I was 20, a youth, not yet an adult. Now I don't want to do any of the things I have to do, but I have to do them and do them right, and there's no room for anything else.

No one told me there were no benefits to adulthood. Instead of gaining freedom, I have lost it, exchanged it for cynicism. The only way I'm going to be able to go back is if I win the lottery and support everyone so they'll come and live with me in my chateau in France.