Man Without a Country (House)

Early Sunday morning marked a very important step in my life towards my goal of near constant manic-depression. I had my first on-the-record accident. Nothing too serious but, in about 1/10th of a second I was down $2000. Backing out of a really small parking spot in Harvard Square at 2am, I hit a support beam painted in the same light-reflective color as the creature from Predator, no doubt.
TAP!
1/10th of a second later, Bumper dislodged, front side panel scratched and dented. Headlight housing warped. No one around to witness my shame, save the square beam looming pompously overhead. That's right...I'm on to you, buddy. I'm not buying the whole "non-sentient"-thing one frigging bit.

This incident, of course, predicated a day-long period of financial analysis. My friends are all buying houses right now. 30 year loans on most of them. 30 YEARS.
30 years from right now, I will be 66 years old. 66 and still paying off a mortgage. That's if I bought a house today (or tomorrow). Working till I'm 66. At least. For a house that, by that time, I probably won't want to live in anymore. Sure, I've heard that we can refinance...resell or whatnot...but I'll still be paying 2k a month SOMEwhere. I won't even bring up the added expenses of potential children (future post).

I'm not exactly why this occurred to me now. Is it some sort of 'defense mechanism' meant to trivialize the 2k bill for the car? Do I have a sinkhole-type mentality that causes all of my unconscious fears to materialize in times of duress? Perhaps, during the 'incident', I hit my head as well?

I usually don't bring these things up, as these sorts of conversations usually end with "That's just how it is, man" and (if I don't relent) "Quit feeling sorry for yourself, asshole" and, finally, "You can sleep it off in that cell". Most of the time, I am aware that I have been blessed with much opportunity. I won the country lottery just by being born, I suppose. That's all fine and good, and I certainly don't fish for pity. But sometimes, when the cold gust of mortality intersects with my daily routine...and I've already laughed off all I can...and I've fed the dogs and taken out the trash and said goodnight...I find myself gazing into the gaping chasm of the future...and I say to myself "I better sell some goddamn screenplays".

66 and troubleshooting "Windows Vista 2035" for some law firm CEO that doesn't like his screen saver?

Fuck THAT.