I remembered blogging about my birthday last year. I wondered if I had managed to do it every year since I began this beast...and the answer is yes. Wow.
Even stranger--my first birthday post was my 26th birthday. Geesh.
I'm 29 now. I've been writing this blog since 2007. Holy wa. I'm in my fourth year of blogging. Granted, sometimes I go weeks between posts, but...
Back up the truck. I'm 29. How did that happen? Objectively, I know how...but...dang. All of a sudden, that number seems a lot bigger than 28. I liked 28. It was divisible by 7. 29 is...not. Freakin' prime number.
Then again, what's wrong with being prime? I mean, think Optimus Prime. Yeah. Awesome.
I feel better now.
No, really. It's been a good year. I've owned my house for about 14 months (not that I'm counting) and I really enjoy it. I like having projects.
I've pushed a little harder at some of my weak places, like my social life, and I think I've been decently brave in getting out there and hanging out with new people. Go me.
And this past summer, I've had the best bruises from softball and frisbee. Ever. I have to say--and if you know me, then you know I always have bruises somewhere--that these were groundbreaking. I actually went to bed once with an ice pack strapped to my shin.
And I gloat about this? Well, yeah. Because it means that I'm not holding back or half-assing my way through. (Sure, "half-ass" can be a verb. I just did it. So there. It's set as a gerund, actually, for those who care.)
Sometimes it feels like the older I get, the more childish I am free to be. Ha.
Paradoxically, I think it's a sign of maturity. I'm no longer feeling so compelled to act like an adult--emphasis on act. I am an adult. Period. And a lady.
Remember that, ok, the next time you see me covered in grass stains.
And that's enough deep thought for today.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment