My father’s generation were a group of people who hit the ground running from the moment they reached adulthood. They started careers and families as soon as they could, and did everything in their power to become better and more successful people than the generation before them, no matter the cost. My generation is a bit different. After my dad’s get-rich-quick scheme actually managed to get him rich…quickly, my parents took off to Hawaii before my eighteenth birthday, leaving me to inherit the family house, car, a decent amount of money and my mom’s massive collection of prescription pills (don’t worry, it hasn’t become a problem). I did what anyone in my position would do: rather than taking the steps necessary to become a functioning adult, I spent my twenties trying to have as much fun as possible, no matter the cost. I had convinced myself that my life was fairly normal; if nothing else, I was no worse off than any of my friends, but then, everything changed. Almost overnight, I lost my girlfriend, my job, and the illusion of any normalcy went with it. Suddenly, I was a grown man with nothing to show for the life I’d led, aside from the things my parents had left me (maybe a few extra pills in my collection). I decided to use that as motivation, to take my first, shambling footsteps into adulthood, and I’ve set out to try to understand what it means to grow up. The only problem is that my friends, vices and neuroses have been less than supportive… My name is David. If you plan on reading this, sorry in advance.