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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
Aug. 10th, 2008 11:48 amSo. August 10th. I am 25. Bloody hell. o.O
I'm aware that, in the grand scheme of things, life and such, I'm not actually that old. In a society that increasingly ups the age of majority, and postpones true adulthood even beyond that, with higher education, more education, with the concept of living carefree bachelor-like lives for years after that, with the notion that things like marriage and kids and owning houses are all things you worry about in your thirties, and not necessarily your early thirties either... I know I'm not old.
But damn. Taking stock I feel old.
I think it's partly because when I meet new people, I'm now more often older than them than younger than them, especially on the internets.
But more than that, I think what's really happening is this:
I'm 25, and that's young enough that I don't want to have to think about how the hell I'm going to manage to pay a mortgage or look after a child or settle somewhere (and picking a spot to stay for the rest of my fucking life or large chunks of it is really the scariest thing for me, I think: and I know I don't have to but logistically, practically, it'll probably happen).
But, I'm 25, and if I want any of those things to happen in the next decade, I should probably work out what the hell I'm doing with my life. Especially since I'm over-educated but in useless areas and I have a dearth of practical experience. I pissed away the last two and a half years of my life in a job that didn't even require me to get A Levels and in the town I was in, I felt lucky to have it. I have no idea how to go about getting a job that's reasonably paid, let alone one that will allow me to do more than pick either saving some money or being able to visit my overseas family or being able to live in somewhere that's not falling apart.
This would be a good state of mind to use to kick myself the hell into writing that book I keep meaning to write. The one where everyone's in prison, but the only people who know it are an insane archeologist, a toddler that doesn't really exist, the toddler's amnesiac immortal sister, and the man with her memories. And together they have to solve a MURDER MYSTERY YAY!
Except I don't know how to start it and instead all I want to do is make a vidlet about how Scar the Cylon Raider is the third wheel in Kara and Sam's marriage, to experimental rock music about a critter caught by priests and put on display in a cathedral. No. Really. *headdesk* THANKS, MULTIHEADED CYLON VIDDING MACHINE.
And now, I'm off to try and ignore the fact that our wrangler is coming to pick us up at 9am tomorrow (two and a half hours before I have to be in work) and we have no idea why because she babbled something at Kev an then ran off in a hurry. She seemed happy about it though, so, fingers crossed it's Cake not Death.
Yours,
Old!Becka.
I'm aware that, in the grand scheme of things, life and such, I'm not actually that old. In a society that increasingly ups the age of majority, and postpones true adulthood even beyond that, with higher education, more education, with the concept of living carefree bachelor-like lives for years after that, with the notion that things like marriage and kids and owning houses are all things you worry about in your thirties, and not necessarily your early thirties either... I know I'm not old.
But damn. Taking stock I feel old.
I think it's partly because when I meet new people, I'm now more often older than them than younger than them, especially on the internets.
But more than that, I think what's really happening is this:
I'm 25, and that's young enough that I don't want to have to think about how the hell I'm going to manage to pay a mortgage or look after a child or settle somewhere (and picking a spot to stay for the rest of my fucking life or large chunks of it is really the scariest thing for me, I think: and I know I don't have to but logistically, practically, it'll probably happen).
But, I'm 25, and if I want any of those things to happen in the next decade, I should probably work out what the hell I'm doing with my life. Especially since I'm over-educated but in useless areas and I have a dearth of practical experience. I pissed away the last two and a half years of my life in a job that didn't even require me to get A Levels and in the town I was in, I felt lucky to have it. I have no idea how to go about getting a job that's reasonably paid, let alone one that will allow me to do more than pick either saving some money or being able to visit my overseas family or being able to live in somewhere that's not falling apart.
This would be a good state of mind to use to kick myself the hell into writing that book I keep meaning to write. The one where everyone's in prison, but the only people who know it are an insane archeologist, a toddler that doesn't really exist, the toddler's amnesiac immortal sister, and the man with her memories. And together they have to solve a MURDER MYSTERY YAY!
Except I don't know how to start it and instead all I want to do is make a vidlet about how Scar the Cylon Raider is the third wheel in Kara and Sam's marriage, to experimental rock music about a critter caught by priests and put on display in a cathedral. No. Really. *headdesk* THANKS, MULTIHEADED CYLON VIDDING MACHINE.
And now, I'm off to try and ignore the fact that our wrangler is coming to pick us up at 9am tomorrow (two and a half hours before I have to be in work) and we have no idea why because she babbled something at Kev an then ran off in a hurry. She seemed happy about it though, so, fingers crossed it's Cake not Death.
Yours,
Old!Becka.
