Monologue for Young Adults 4: Thirty More (10/31)

 

[This is an installation in a series I began in 2017. Each stands alone as its own piece.]

Monologue 1: Housing --  Monologue 2: Green Thumb -- Monologue 3: Secession

30 years? Damn. No, like... okay, yeah, we know I'm bleak. But making it to 60? I can't imagine it. No honestly, I can't! Like, making it to 30 last year was a gift in itself. And you're talking about retiring at 60. Whew, those benefits must be amazing! I mean, yeah, they better be if you're putting your life on the li-- I just didn't know we could do that. Not the at 60 party, retiring in general. I thought it'd be all dried up by the time whomever among us survived that long. Or we'd be 74. Yikes, nah definitely don't want that. Listen, my knees are already locking up. I can't drop it low like a bitch used to. I can't club at 74. And make no mistake, knowing millennials and our liberal aversion to children, there will definitely be clubs for the elderly. And I have... mature friends, so don't call me ageist. I love them, respect them, honor and cherish them. If anything they've showed me that making it past 40 doesn't have to be boring, it can be fulfilling. But that's a strength I have not yet acquired, and I'm more than happy to bitch out.

[laughs] Me. Elderly. [laughs again] Bitch, I'm tired now! I can't do another 30 years of this. Like, the first time around, easy. Barely noticed. Wasn't truly conscious until I was four. Didn't get a job til I was eighteen cause I never left the house before then. Didn't really start paying bills til I was 21, 22. And yeah, I've realized this before, but you want me to survive 30 years paying bills!? Mmm, I'll give you 20 and then drop. Listen, get your time in with me now. I'm not taking care of this already defective body any longer than I have to. They start making cyborgs, then we can talk. But til then, I'mma keep drinking this drink and just see how long I make it before I crash and total this thing. 

Mm, so let's make a toast and a pact! Cause I see all your faces souring. We're friends; we're tight; we love each other more than we love our families. We keep each other alive, but as soon as one of slips and we're all gathered around your hole in the ground or your urn, we just let it go. Fuck it. Party til our worlds end. Last one left throws themselves in the grave or crematory too. You in?

Word

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