Not Even Close

A pre-PS - you should listen to this song before reading this post.

Well. Hello there. I've had a wee break and thought I had better report in.

What kind of blogger leaves their blog unattended for two days? Me. Sorry about that.

This week has been busy and interesting, and I've felt long moments of anxiety - where an almost skull cap of tension comes over me, and I don't want anyone near me, I feel fractious. I feel claustrophobic. It's not a good feeling - and to be completely frank - because what else am I (?) I do not like it.

But I am ok. I am definitely ok. Fear not for me. I will (hopefully bounce back) as a more vibrant me. I'm painting my nails in Darling Showpony as testament to this hope.

So I turn to you dear reader. I need food for the soul. When everything's dried up in me, and I feel like the marrow is completely sucked dry, please tell me of your good tidings. I want to hear every sordid detail. SPILL!

image source: green diary
Post-PS - you should now listen to this song - 1. for the song; 2. because I feel like I miss Robert and 3: the palette. I wanted to be one of those girls. HAWT!

Post - PPS - I always wondered how Robert got those ka-TING noises. I presume it's ninjas battling in the background. It's a given, right?

I'm Having a Mid-Life Crisis. And Other Crapola.

Today at work, someone told me that they thought I was like an older person trying to cling onto their youth (my youth, not theirs), because I abbreviate my words, such as "the youshe" (the usual), "totes" (totally - courtesy of Pip), and other words I use such as "ace", "awesome", "rad".

The person continued telling me what they thought of me. A kind of character assassination while I went about making myself a cup of tea. That's what old people do apparently.

I offered in response that I thought they were mean.

They agreed.

And I informed them that just because they were 12, didn't give them the right to dissect my vocab.

Now, on the flipside, I now feel like I'm having a midlife crisis.

I've hated being 31.

31 is like nothing. 31 is neither here nor there.

30 was fine. I loved 30. But 31 for me, it sucks.

I think reading "Revolutionary Road" perpetuated my little mid-life crisis, a little.

The idea that you think you're special. That something amazing is going to happen to you, the idea that by the time you're whatever age you imagined, you're going to have a house, life will be easy, life will be easier. You'll be all sorted. And yet, when you reach that oft imagined age, none of what you'd dreamt of earlier has been attained.

I've not won Lotto. I think it's my lucky day if I find $2 on the footpath.

I work 4 days a week.

I pay bills late.

I sometimes buy groceries and when I go to pay, my keycard is declined.

I often drive the car around on empty.

I thought that by now I'd be grown up. But I don't feel any different. I don't feel like how I imagined I'd feel. I don't feel like I am truly an adult. And yet here I am. 31. Two kids. And a kidult.

Apologies for the Emo post. I'll resume with upbeat posting tomorrow. Promise. I'll eat more chocolate and be happier. That's fo' shiz.