1. My home has entered levels of cleanliness never before imagined or aspired to. I am well and truly becoming my mother (who, but a mere twenty-five years ago, became her mother.)
2. When I get an injury or illness there is very palpable fear that it will never truly go away. Just one little ankle sprain means I will forever and ever after for all my days refer to my right foot as “my bad foot.” I now have to drink cranberry juice because I have increased chances of kidney stones. Fuck you, aging body, fuck you.
3. I can no longer connect with the youth of today and I don’t care. This might seem like a cliche way to realize you’re getting old, but my lord if it isn’t a doozy. It’s become apparent to me recently that the dominant youth “generation” of today are the Millenials, and by gosh, I ain’t one of them. I exist in that strange netherspace between them and Generation X. We are the lost socks of a shifting zeitgeist.
4. All I really want to do all day is read and write. Is that so bad? Honestly?
5. I am getting married (to Boy
Roommate Friend) and I’m okay with that. “The rest of my life” doesn’t scare me anymore because at this point “the rest of my life” is only about fifty years (at best), so what’s another fifty years wandering this endless plain of life? Tis but peanuts compared to the eternity that has already stretched behind me. Alas.
6. I am getting married (to Boy
Roommate Friend) and I’m okay with that really happy about it. I’m honestly stoked. Ignore the drole irony of #5. My point was that I no longer fear commitment, because I no longer doubt who I am or who I will be. It’s been a journey but I’m finally at a point where all that desperate navel-gazing is done and over with. I know who I am now. I know what kind of life I want. I know who I want to be with. Sure it’s not going to be sugar-coated sweetness all the time, but it’s still going to be pretty awesome because I feel old and wise and totally zen.
Take that, Twenty-Something Ashleigh, take that.