I'm writing now as I'm sitting at a greyhound bus terminal, waiting for salvation. I've had this funny feeling deep in my belly for a while now.

Maybe it's the morbid exhaustion that is still dwelling in my body from finals. Or maybe it's the awful cafeteria food I digested earlier. (I can still taste the oil drenched French fries and surprisingly, the cardboard Ramen in my mouth.)

I just hate this feeling that has been overshadowing my thoughts for the past few months. Not the feeling of physically aging and becoming wrinkly or saggy, but the feeling of mentally aging. Mentally aging to the point where I have to have "grown up" responsibilities.

I'm 19 going on 35. or at least it feels like it.

Moving to New York helped me embrace the inner workaholic side of me. I say that as if it were a good thing, it's not.

I love being able to do everything that I've ever dreamed of or at least foresee the possibility of it happening. I love being able to take classes in every subject that interests me. I love living life everyday on a whim of new opportunities. But all of this comes at a very hefty price. All of those dreams cost not only money, but time, love, passion and devotion. A literal soul-sucking task.

I have so many responsibilities yet so little time to complete all of them. All of a sudden, everything in this world became a race. A race to the top. A race where In the end, when you are the victor and you've trampled over thousands and thousands of innocent lives to get there, you are invincible and you are alone.

I'm sitting here in this bus terminal at 7:39 at night, waiting for a ride to Florida, contemplating how I'm going to get through the next day of work and obligations.

Maybe it's the pain throbbing from my squished toes in my loafers. Or maybe its the migraine I feel coming from an overexposure to bright lights.

I just cant help but wonder how many other young people in this room, no, in this world, feel the same way I feel tonight.