Birthday

Another day, another procrastination post.

It’s my birthday soon.

(More than) A few years ago, birthdays were a cause for excitement. The prospect of getting older was very appealing. I was officially a teenager, then I could go for my Learner’s Permit, then I could legally drink alcohol and theoretically vote (once got around to enrolling – my love of politics was slow to bloom) and finally I was 21, although that seemed to be an entirely pointless birthday to anyone outside of the United States of America.

Now it just feels like a slow trudge towards senility. A slow trudge that appears to be gradually speeding up. I suspect that before I know what’s happening, time will have broken into a brisk trot and then (as my television idol Edina Monsoon once said) I’ll hit an oil patch at 40 and skid headfirst towards the grave.

Now, I’m not normally this glib. It’s just that getting older seems to induce in me fits of introspection that are entirely at odds with how I normally approach life (deny, deny, deny). I wonder, am I falling behind in some areas? Like a three year old crawler, are there developmental hurdles that I haven’t yet cleared?

To be honest, I blame Facebook.

Surely not all of my peers (HOLLA class of 2004) are engaged, married, homeowners or the proud mother of seven children. It certainly does feel like it sometimes though, when scrolling through the stalking vortex that is my News Feed. I’m nowhere near any of these things. I’ve only relatively recently acquired my first real boyfriend (a mere 12 years behind most of my peers), I still approach my finances using the ‘reverse savings’ method (spending on credit and then paying it back), the biggest investment purchase I’ve ever made was a $600 winter coat and, when presented with a cute baby, have never thought anything other than “well, that’s a cute baby”. I’m stuck in a barren desert completely devoid of any significant life milestones (again with the glibness).

Isn’t it strange how people are quite happy to brag about children, houses, engagements (if I see one more ‘ring finger prominently displayed whilst clutching a champagne glass photo’ I think I will break something) and new cars – however if you talk about how ace you are at your job, you’re a wanker? And I don’t say this in the way that I wish I could brag about work – firstly, I don’t think there’s much to brag about anyway and secondly, I’d think I was a wanker too. I guess I just want all of this sort of behaviour to be classed as ‘wankerishness’.

That way I can go on with my childish (and childless) existence in ignorant bliss.

In the meantime, I intend to content myself by thinking of all of those people who are even further behind than me. People who still live at home beyond the age of 22, I’m looking at you.

PS. This is the only sort of ring that should be photographed clutching a champagne glass.

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