….and so are my 20s

During the festive season, I turned 30.  Yup, now I’m a real grownup, I can’t get away with the stupid and irresponsible crap I once did, or so they tell me.

To be honest, I think turning 29 is much harder.  When you turn 29, the panic sets in; I was overwhelmed with a feeling of ohmygodionlyhaveoneyearleft!

Not only was I not where I thought I’d be at almost 30, I had yet to figure out where I thought I’d be at almost 30.  I was still single, in a one bedroom apartment, with my almost 10 year old cat, who was my most healthy and enduring relationship with a male.  It certainly didn’t help that people actually started with the old maid jokes, or that both my parents thought I was already 30 and I had to argue with them and prove it, which was made worse by the fact that there are not together, so they each made this assumption independently.  I was going to become one of those old spinster aunts who cooks for her cats and dresses funny.

But then I thought what if I wanted to be the crazy aunt? Did I? Then my life went all crazy and I had no more time to think about it, which in my case was probably a good thing.

And now here I am at 30, and while in some ways it feels like a whole year can’t possibly have passed since then, in others it feels like a lifetime has passed.

And I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.