I started attending the University of New Mexico half a life ago in the winter of 1991. I turned nineteen just a few weeks into that semester. And I have no idea how that UNM basketball team did. I was so immersed into the university cocoon and studies and friends (and those crazy weekends) that weeks took months and months took years.

These days I wake up on Saturday mornings and mentally track back to the last five days to make sure I made it into work on a daily basis. At least an appearance, you know. A week goes by like snapping fingers. February took maybe a week and a half this year. March is waning even though it just started a few days ago.

I'd learned a few things about college by the time I made it to UNM. One is never schedule a class before ten in the morning. Eleven if you can pull it off. Weekends start a little after noon on Friday, but try not to skip that last class on Friday every week (too obvious). And, even though plans are nice, always be flexible. Because there is a chance that Friday or Saturday night will be the greatest triumph (or failure--equally exciting) of your entire life.

Oh yeah, don't wash red clothes with your whites.

Nineteen and 1991--for me and the world--was a pretty stunning year. We went to war for the first time since Vietnam. Hot war, anyway. The recession was in full effect (although not as felt on campus). On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, three protests took place. Anti-war, pro-war, and a naked guy got his picture (a long shot) in the paper for protesting the restrictive oppression of clothing. We went to war, and the guy had to put his clothes back on.

Music went through a transformation during 1991. Tons of amazing records came out that year. The Doors movie made us all make like Jim Morrison. And my hair was nearly half way down my back, had nice highlights and I looked like a rock star. Even though I wasn't in a band. Strangely (or maybe not), looking like a rock star (but not actually playing an instrument) got me more play than actually being in a band. Posers rule?

With my new sharp haircut today, I look like I'm about to enlist--even though I'm a few years too old for that. I put on my office clothes every morning and take them off when I get back home. Mr. Rogers style. I never understood that as a kid. My dad didn't change his clothes when he got home (or, if he did, I really didn't notice). But now I totally get it. Shedding the skin of my screen job poser uniform. Trying to pretend to be someone else with a different life.

Routines rule half a life later. Wake up (without alarm) around 7:30. Get to work around 8:30. A couple cups of tea and a banana for breakfast. Go to lunch at about 11:45. Sales reports, status updates and meetings. Do my best to leave work before five. Stop by my brother's family for a bit and then settle in for the night. Choose my poison.

A pub at least once a week. Band practice on the weekends. Every two weeks, an afternoon of laundry. Somewhere there's a life in all of this.

At nineteen, the only routine I had were my scheduled classes, and they changed daily (MWF on one schedule, TT on another--with the occasional once a week class thrown in for kicks). I don't think I used an alarm, but I might have to ensure I made it to Lapo for breakfast.

I saw my first punk bands in 1991--without knowing that's what I was watching. A couple of local punks (Angry Babies and BigDamnCrazyWeight) and then a Fugazi show in the fall. Before that one I stopped by Her Majesty's Secret Record Store (next to the Sunshine Theater) and bought a promo copy of the new band from most of Mother Love Bone (something called Pearl Jam). There was one of the first Scumbaag (ABQs version of Frank Zappa and the Mothers) shows at a girl's birthday party. Oh yeah, and the Iron Maiden/Anthrax concert at Tingley.

NOFX is playing here on Cinco de Mayo, and I still haven't decided if I want to go.

1991 began with me being crazy in love with a girl named Diana. By the end of the year I met new girls every weekend--if not sometime in between.

I seem to have forgotten how to start a conversation these days. I've built myself a mousetrap, and I need to figure out how to get out of it with most of my limbs intact.

When I was nineteen I was convinced I wouldn't make it to thirty alive. And that does give an urgency to everything. A death wish isn't necessarily detrimental. It's a drive to toss the thought of possible entanglements to the wind and just live. And now I pay for insurance to make sure my life stays exactly the same.

Until another half life passes at 76.

Matt Worley watched the end of the best UNM Lobo Men's Basketball season ever yesterday, and he hopes to be around to see them top themselves next year.