It was my birthday on Friday. I turned 28. Next year will be my first 29th birthday. Then I’ll turn 30 (because it’s a fab excuse for an awesome party). Then I’ll turn 29 again. That’s how it works, right?
It’s not as though I’m really afraid of getting older. It’s just that I’m not…getting older, that is. I feel like I’m in my mid-twenties…in that I have a real job that’s stable and provides me with enough remuneration to fund my weekend proclivities. But I also recently had a diet Coke with my breakfast because I ran out of milk and o.j. And I’m kind of sleep deprived because my weekend activities just were more fun than being asleep.
And I feel like people who are older have it together. Like…they always have milk in the fridge. And nobody’s asking them if they’re feeling ok because the Friday/Saturday party sleep-deprivation makes them look like they have the flu for the first 3 days of the work week.
My Dad is meeting my boyfriend’s parents tonight. This terrifies me. Partly because I’m afraid of the inevitable awkwardness of a forced social situation such as this. But also because of what it means. This means I’m being mature and responsible. I’m facilitating the networking of other mature adults. I’m in a meaningful relationship. And that’s exciting. But it also makes me want to go fingerpaint rude pictures in the hall of my rental unit.
I'm glad that you decided against the fingerpainting. The Irving Layton poem of the same name that I had to read in first year was enough of that for me.
ReplyDeleteSo that's why there was no milk. At least you had eggs.