People think I’m old. Mainly because I am. In a way that has very little to do with me being in my early to mid twenties (when does early become mid and slides into the late thirties? Of course it doesn’t really matter, we don’t have to put labels on such things once you’ve passed the age of eighteen or so. It’s probably down to whatever it is you might reckon). In fact, I forget precisely how old I am a little more often than I should. I blame no longer being in school, a place where relative ages are incredibly important for some reason we’re not sure of any more.
I’ve sailed beyond the moment where being mature for your age is a good thing. These things tend to be more in your own head than you might be prepared to believe. I’ve got lines around my mouth that I could miserably stare at for a lot more time than is strictly healthy. I really rather doubt that if anyone has even noticed them that they’d care in the slightest. Someone recently thought that I was at least ten years older than I am and like some sort of grumpy child I immediately went into a massive huff.
What are the benefits then of hurtling through the childish decades to the creamy goodness of adulthood? It’s excellent to start paying bills and tax and working my way through all that debt I’ve been busy accumulating. On the other hand, if I want something, I can have it thanks to all those hours of the day I spend at a desk in exchange for a gratifyingly more than living wage. Sure, I’ve leapt out of the university years into a relatively functional existence. Go me.
I didn’t stick around to sniff the roses, I’m less nostalgic for those days at least partially because I didn’t much enjoy my time at school. I’m still allowed to read as much as I ever did (yay, train commutes) and my ability to recall word perfect quotes from not just The Simpsons but also Futurama and beyond is hopefully regarded by some as charmingly retro. I’m really not sure what point I’m trying to make but whatever, I’m going to go and play games with my boyfriend and then possibly do some hard-core knitting (totally not the right phrase, sounds a bit dodge).
Song choices courtesy of: Bowling for Soup, Murray Gold and Foo Fighters