Melatonin. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. It’s a magical substance. I was first introduced to the good stuff when I was 17 years old. My mom and I had flown out to Alabama for my cousin’s high school graduation. I struggled to sleep the first night. I was in a new place. The sounds of the air in the vents and the house settling were different than I was used to. The light coming through the window cast shadows that mimicked gremlins and home invaders. The next day, I was slamming one can of Coca-Cola after another, desperately hoping to fill my bloodstream with enough caffeine to make it through the commencement ceremony, because watching a sea of blue robes slowly trickle under the basketball hoop of Auburn University’s practice arena for approximately one-third of an entire eternity isn’t particularly stimulating. So, after that first sleepless night and yawn-filled day, my mom outstretched her hand and opened it, exposing two little purple gummies, beckoning that I take them, c
I turned 25 a few days ago. I threw a party. I spent about three months entirely overthinking this party. I called it my Quarter-Century Extravaganza . I spent a little more money that I should have throwing this party. And it turned out to be everything I could've hoped for and more. As wonderful and perfect as the party was, there are three great ironies which caused the people around me, and sometimes even myself, to tilt their heads and ask, "are you sure this is what you want to do?" The first great irony is found in the sheer number of people involved. I’ve discussed this here before. So many people in my life seem to have social batteries that run on nuclear energy. My social battery, however, is a couple of AA batteries. But not even the good kind, like Duracell or Energizer. Think the cheapest batteries, the ones that come with the toy. And there’s already acid leaking out the side. My brothers and I had some friends over at my parents’ house six weeks ago