Then the late twenties will fill you with existential angst. Kind of a grown-up version of the angst you grew to know and love as a teen.
Then you hit thirty, something inside of you dies, you reconcile yourself to this development, and you reach a new level of "Clint-Eastwood-like non-#####-giving" that will serve you well as your significant other and children consume your hopes and dreams, your body begins its slow decay into middle age, and the drudgery of every day routine becomes the valium with which you salve any lingering aspirations that may bubble to the surface from time to time.
So much to look forward to at your age...
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