Warning: this blog post may make you want to slap me in my face.
So, last Friday I turned 26. And?
Not a particularly significant age, 25 possibly, 26, no. But it seems that all the guff that comes with hitting one of those milestones deferred itself for a year, probably in no small part to something that happened when I was a mere spring chicken at 24 ½ (what? If kids can use half years, so can I).
The day before my birthday, I got stuck in a rut of going through all the crap stuff… 2 years after starting a (intended) stop gap job, I’m still doing it (not for lack of trying), it’s incredibly unfulfilling, not to mention the pay. Shouldn’t I be starting to develop a career by now? Why didn’t I take more productive A-Levels? Should I have gone to uni? I’ve begun questioning my ability write (hence the lack of recent posts), something very important to me. Why, at 26, as close to 40 as to 12, do I still feel like a flupping man-child, surely I should be firmly in the territory of the former? Not reading comics and thinking about buying an Xbox 360.
My son would have been 15 months old had he arrived on his due date, with no complications. That, particularly, sucks.
Thankfully though, the lovely H (who, if I had gone to uni, I would probably not have met, thus negating that problem entirely) managed to talk me down, (although not able to convince me that I not more stupider than I are a couple years ago) and I went on to have a very enjoyable, if uneventful birthday. Thank you Missus.
This post, as I’m sure you’re aware by now, is something of a mess, I’ve heard it said that writing stuff down can help you gain some perspective. And that’s what this was for.
I’ve got such white middle class ‘problems’.
I refer you to the warning at the beginning of this post, having read this through, I actively encourage it.
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