On the surface, the major parameters of "someone who's got their shit together" are all in place:
- Steady job from which it's nearly impossible to get fired: Check.
- Apartment in a quasi-swanky, yet fairly-boring, part of town: Check.
- Car which has newly-smuggled-into-the-country tires: Check.
- No bastard-children floating around, to my knowledge: Check.
- Financial advisor who owns a sailboat and wears suspenders: Check.
- Houseplant named Sparky who is between 7 and 8 years old: Check.
Which is true. (Sadly.)
But, let's face it... I'm not getting any younger, and my general feelings of indecision really aren't going away. What am I going to do with my life? Am I going to be a classroom teacher forever, or move onto something else education-related? Will I ever club a woman and drag her back to my cave to have my babies as I protect her from the sabre-toothed tigers? Hell, is my cave going to remain in the 416, or will I move somewhere else, eventually? And, why does my apartment smell vaguely of cigarette smoke? Has Crazy Cat Lady downstairs just torn into a new carton of Marlboros? And, if so, how the hell is the smoke getting in here?
Ferris Bueller was right. Life does move pretty fast.