"Meri jawani khatam ab," I claimed, to an anxious, ambitious co-worker of mine, who at 34, complained that she hadn't experience half the "fun" I had.

I type this as I wait for the final few minutes at work, till I can go zooming to my local bar to get wasted. It is friday night by the way, and this is a ritual, in the least.

I've been self-righteously announcing to anyone who will listen that 2014 is going to be a somber content year. A year when I find myself situations and people to settle down with. Funnily enough, last night I told myself that by the end of 2014 if I found myself in the same place as I am right now, in the beginning of 2014, that I was definitely going to make a drastic move away from the capital.

I'm so fickle sometimes. Always running after desires, that when strapped to my feet, can feel like mini-burdens, calling out to me. I never know.

I once tried to point in a direction, and then quickly before anyone noticed, turned around and decided I wanted to walk the other way.

I'm a 20-something stereotype, hoping to be a 30-something stereotype soon.

Someday, I may implode. Right now, I'm just happy circling my whiskey glass and making bad choices. It builds the foundation of maturity, you see.