I am living my second teenage-hood. My hair is in a faux hawk, my fingernails and toenails are a dark purple bordering on black, I live rent-free in an apartment someone else pays for, eat their food, and mooch off their laundry services. I don't have a "real" job. Instead I intern two days a week at a job that has the same social elements of working retail, and the other days I run errands for the people who support me, so basically, I do my chores.

I am basically fifteen again. And I fucking love it.

I have been the most responsible person I know for as long as I can remember, save when I was fourteen and fifteen when I was the rebel, the leader of the pack, the first one to smoke cigarettes and weed and drink, the bad influence. Before that brief time I was that kid who is eight-going-on-eighteen. And by sixteen I was graduating high school two years early and starting college. I was driven and responsible and I kept at it for another fourteen years, topping it all off with a little trip to law school and a little career as an attorney.

And now I am taking a break.

I am looking for work, but nothing in an office because I can't stand the thought of it. So I'm looking for personal assistant work so that I can spend my time running errands and frolicking all over Manhattan and getting paid for it. I suppose it's my version of a paper route.

I spent the better part of thirty years being responsible and grown up. And in a year I'll start spending the better part of the next thirty years doing the same thing. For this year I am absolutely stoked to leave responsibility behind, fancy myself punk rock, be dependent on people more grown up and responsible than myself, and be a teenager again.

Next step: buy a black light and smoke myself retarded. ; )