I'm afraid to "grow up" because that means I will have reached the end of my potential; it will mean that no matter what I'm doing, I will be doing it to "make a living" and then live that life that I'm supposed to want to live--except that I don't.
I'm supposed to spend eight hours, every day, doing a series of mundane tasks that I secretly wish I didn't have to do--that I secretly wish would somehow **** me--all for a paycheck that allows me to keep a roof over my miserable head and keep poison in my fat body to just keep on breathing so I can continue this cycle of attending this mundane job to pay for this living that feels so lifeless.
And for what? So I can go out a few hours a week and spend my extra time with other human beings--my extra time that I wish I could just spend without--and pretend, for their sakes, that I desire to be with them; that I desire to spend this time here, on this earth, performing for them and the world and everyone else?
So, really, the meaning of life--the reason to go on living--is so that those who spend their own few, precious, extra hours with me can go on, knowing I'll be there, wearing my mask, so they can feel as if they're making a living out of this life.
...But if I don't "grow up," I can possibly continue to fool myself into believing that life will, some day, be worth living.
2020: okay, Peter Pan. My job is amazing and my life is so friggin worth it.