The 27 Club: One Year Left

Today I turned 26. I always feel so productive on my birthday, accomplishing that seemingly impossible task of transitioning into an entirely different age. It takes so much out of me that I won't attempt such a miraculous feat for another year. So in 365 days, I'll feel productive again as I turn 27.

If I happen to embrace rock-stardom this year, the great age shift of 2010 could mean trouble.

Because 27-year-old rock stars die.

So let's assume I have one year left. Because I'm practically Bon Jovi, remember? And considering I'll be a rock star for my final year, picture me as the image of pure awesomeness. But probably without tattoos. I'm too practical and indecisive. Even with the knowledge that I won't have to worry about wrinkly ink.

This is what I've gotta do before I join the 27 Club:

• Finish a screenplay. Preferably the one I just started. (I'm a writerly rock star.)
• Meet the Boy Behind the Wall. And neglect to tell him about this blog. When I'm gone, this url will be sent to him. It's in my will.
• Uh, create will.
• Get an agent. A literary one.
• Travel somewhere I haven't been. Maybe get a stamp on my passport.
• Play the piano. And sing. Because that's what rock stars like me do. And maybe pick up a guitar and pretend to be cooler than I am.
• Find a romantic lead for my biography. Tearfully confess that I can't marry him, as I'm about to die and have no interest in leaving the man I love a widower. He should marry someone who survives her twenties. Unless he's anticipating joining the same tragic club.
• Run a 5k for real. Just to prove that I can be a sexy, fit writer. And maybe to outrun impending death.
• Read a novel in French. I want to die a little more bilingual than I am today.
• Send fan mail. To everyone. And respond to all of mine.
• Take more photographs.
• Leave a fantastic pile of journals, notebooks and email drafts for someone to compile into the above-mentioned touching, hilarious, and exasperating biography. Scribbled hints at a life well-lived.
• Enter Club 27 with no regrets. No "what ifs." No hesitant tiptoeing where Nancy Sinatra-esque stomping should be.
• Be up for the adventure. Laugh a lot. Love without abandon. Take risks. Write it down.
• "Well done." That's all.

Twenty-six is going to be good, folks. It has to be. It might be all I've got.