I think I’ll be a little lazy in my blog-writing obligation today, because it’s my birthday (I’m 27 today!) and the house it utter chaos, and I’ve barely escaped. What I’d like to say is:
I’m surprised I’m 27, because I consistently feel 22 or 23. Ten years ago, I thought I’d be a famous photographer or running for some kind of office or just have finished a novel. None of those have happened, but lots of other things have, and I’m happy about all of them. Oh, all right, I’m just kidding; I’m not really happy about all of them. I’m afraid I’m “old” now, I’m annoyed that I haven’t done “more,” and suddenly 30 looms in front of me like some sort of goal post that says “YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING WITH YOUR LIFE!!!” I buy wrinkle cream and stress about the bags under my eyes. I wonder whether I should hurry up and make some babies with Jesse before I get too old, but I am not sure I’m patient or selfless enough for something so small and fragile and needy, and I wonder if I’ll ever grow up and learn how to pay attention to when the garbage and recycling needs to go out. I wonder why I’m still working in stupid cube farm in a stupid bank when I went to art school and had big dreams. But, all in all, I am quite content and happy today, and I have some Summits to drink and some steak to eat, so I’ll leave you with a song that I love by an artist that I adore.