Sooooooooooooo.....you know how I've been all "30? I'm fine with 30! In your 30s you know who you are, are comfortable in your own skin, hit your sexual peak (if lucky enough to a woman, sorry boys you've been on the downhill for aaaages)" etc etc? I've just been emailing Hat Friend extensively over this 30 business and we've been pretty self-congratulatory about how incredibly cool we are about it.
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AN IGLOO MADE OF BOOKS BY MILLER LAGOS VIA FUCK YEAH, BOOKS
I NEED THIS IGLOO AS MY SAFE PLACE. READ INTO THAT WHAT YOU WILL, IMAGINARY THERAPIST |
Just had a minor moment, checking a new tick box on the medical history forms needed for a dental check-up at a new practice. 30. Wow. Which was compounded by receiving an email from the SIL about whether I wanted her to save her newborn baby clothes - would I be sprogging up in the next 1 to 2 years? She meant well but HOLY CRAP that freaked ten types of shit out of me. Suddenly, the implications and societal expectations regarding being married, moving closer to home and turning 30 have just become apparent to me. And here I was all "I'm turning 30 and then four days later I'll be unemployed and wandering the world, fuck I'm so COOL and HIP and YOUNG don't you worry about me" when what I was actually doing was EVERYTHING people expect you to do when you get married and turn 30.
Sorry, I'll try to fucking ARTICULATE next time. This is a RANT.
I just said thanks, but no thanks on the baby stuff. I'm having enough trouble deciding what to eat for dinner let alone thinking about when I'm going to spawn. Actually, that reaction right there has calmed me a little. If I were properly grown up, I might, you know, not have lost my shit at a well meant and kind offer.
As you were.
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