There’s been something at the tip of my tongue for a few months now.
… something I’ve been struggling with, trying to come to terms with.
… something that is difficult to say.
But sometimes, those are the things you just have to SAY, right? Just man up, and say it already.
I’m turning 25 this year.
There. I said it.
I know, right? JESUS CHRIST KACI, bfd.
But I’m serious! Usually, every February 1, I throw myself a little half-birthday party. (Okay, not really, but at least there’s a party in my head. Get off me.) This year? Notsomuch. Because, I reasoned with myself, if I celebrate my half birthday, that means my actual birthday is that much closer.
And y’all, I do not want to turn 25. I’m perfectly content staying 24 forever. It’s a good age! At 24, it’s acceptable to be single. Or in a relationship. Or engaged. Or married. (The possibilities are endless!)
It’s also okay to, at 24, be and/or get pregnant, and/or have a child/children. Or not! It’s okay to party until 5 a.m., or go to bed at 8 p.m. (though one may or may not lead to more severe judgement than the other).
The thing is, 24 is kind of the perfect age.
25? 25 is a quarter of a fucking century.
Okay, it just hit me that I KNOW there are people older than 25 reading this. Please note: I DO NOT MEAN THAT YOU ARE OLD. In fact, quite the opposite. And yeah, I know I’m not making a lot of sense. (Don’t act so surprised.)
Here’s the thing: I’m the baby of my family. I mean, the b-a-b-y. Think of everything you would think the baby of a family would be… and you’ve pretty much got me. I’m not a spoiled little bitch – I know the value of a dollar, my mommy told me “no” plenty while I was growing up… but I AM (was?) spoiled. And bratty. And definitely an annoying little sister, and I kind of tend to think the world revolves around me (hey, I’m a Leo AND I have a blog… again, don’t act so surprised). I like to get what I want, when I want it, and yes, I actually DO want your full and undivided attention. Unless you’re being mean, then go away.
I just kind of never thought I’d actually make it to 25, I guess. When I turn 25, ownership of the house left to me by my grandmother (RIP grandma, I freakin’ love you and miss you!) is transferred into my name and out of the family trust. I’ve known that would happen since my age was still in the single digits. So yeah, 25 has always been an age that was kind of out there, but not really attainable.
But this year, I turn 25.
And I’m kind of freaking out.