Would you think less of me if I lay on the ground, thrashing my arms and legs around while screaming and crying “I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!”?
Twenty nine years old, 10592 days old, 1.525e+7 minutes old and about 4 years past my ideal age. 25 was good. I could drink a glass of wine – hells, I could drink a few bottles of wine, without waking up to a crippling hangover. I could also sleep like the dead after said-bottles of wine. I could go out until 3 in the morning on a school night and still wake up at 7 for a full day of work with a fair amount of ease. Sure I would be tired, but I was young, so who cared! I could spend my money on clothes and shoes, because rent was minimal, and so were food costs, my car was “vintage” and medical aid was for people who needed it. Not me, life was carefree.
Not that life is tough now, but it just isn’t 25-esque anymore. A glass of wine ensures that I hardly sleep that night, I’m beset with an incurable headache the next morning and that a small furry animal sleeps in my mouth (or at least, that is how it feels). Money is spent on being an adult – buy anti-aging eye creams that make your future wrinkles less imminent, buying skin-friendly cleaning products for your house, paying bills, paying for “responsible” cars, getting married, running a household…you know – adult things.
I wont be giving you a list of “things I have learnt from my twenties”, because I am fairly certain that anyone my age and older knows exactly what you learn about life and the world during your tumultuous twenties. If you aren’t my age or older, you will learn – and you will love it. Instead, regard this as a reflection on the best years of my life so far, and the start of the best to come.
What I will tell you is how the last day before the last year of my twenties started out -
Jean decided to work from home today, so I woke up at 5:30am when his alarm sounded…and then didn’t sleep a wink after. My husband, who I love more than anything, rolled around, tickled my hand, ticked on his phone keyboard and sighed continuously until 7am when I had to get up, which meant I didn’t get the extra hour that I usually do. Since I stayed up late to finish bawling my eyes out to Marley & Me last night, I really needed that extra hour. Really, really. Anyway, I got up and went to shower, only to have the shower head fall on me while rinsing my hair. Everything else happen as it usually does this morning, until I got into the car and had to turn it around as I was taking my brother to school, which is a different route from my straight-to-work route. I reversed into the driveway, a little too close to the fence and, while pulling forward, knocked the fence over and got one of the poles wedged into my wheel-arch**. I, then, held up about 3 cars while trying to get the fence off my car, turning, reversing, swearing, while Angus tried to yank the offending wood post away. After a few attempts, we got the post out and I drove, hurriedly, into my neighbours driveway – handbrake up – to get out of the way. Off we went with a new green scratch on the side of the car, only to get stuck on the East Farleigh bridge by the oncoming train, listening to some young punk’s krappy idea of morning music.
Anyway, I got Angus to school in one piece and I got myself to work on time. Here’s hoping the day, somehow, turns out better than this morning did.
The moral of this post is that getting older is the pits, don’t drive when you are tired and that, however scary it may be, the rest of my life awaits.
** Sorry mooooom. The fence got it again…:S