I have been obsessed with (terrified of?) the passing of time for as long as I can remember. But today is my birthday, and I turn 32, and I’ve always thought this age sounded alright. I worked with a guy at the psych ward who, upon turning 27, was like *fist pump* YASS CELEBRATE because apparently that’s the usual cutoff for when Schizophrenia manifests and he now considered himself in the clear.
So maybe I feel like I’m in the clear for some things. Turning 31 was weird, because that’s the age my mom was when I was born– and I was her fifth child. *cue panic attack*
I remember when I was living in a one room efficiency, about to drop out of college (for the first of many times) and freaking out because I was turning 19 and thought this meant I was getting old. A mental ticker ran through my head– you haven’t done anything with yourself yet.
It was around this time I got the weird idea that age 32 was when I’d get my shit together. I’m not sure why– maybe because it’s a mathematically pleasing number, or maybe because it felt so far away that it gave me a pass to muck around for a bit. And believe me, I spent some time wallowing in other people’s dirt.
To be fair, this mental ticker tape continues to haunt me. I assumed this was normal, but when I talk about it with other people they tell me they don’t function this way. Yet I’m over here like: [Read more…]
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