In my head, I'm somewhere between 32 and 35. I know people who wish they were back in their 20s, but that's not me at all. I had my head up my arse in my 20s, I was a miserable stoner and had no appreciation of my life or the people in it.
But my 30s were pretty cool. My 40s haven't been bad, mind -- it's just that they're bringing me ever closer to
FIFTY, people. Freakin FIFTY.
How do you get your head round that?
Look, if you're 50 plus, and fine with it, good on ya. I'm so so happy for you, here's a balloon, go away.
Because it is freaking me the fuck out.
It isn't even that actual age that's doing me in -- it's just the constant reminder of my mortality.
And not just mine, but my husbands' too.
In the last few months -- well, since April -- I've had 3 friends diagnosed with breast cancer, several who've lost parents, and two who've had possible hideous disfiguring cancers.
I keep being reminded -- I could DIE. Like, really, DIE. And be GONE. FOREVER.
How could the world keep going without me in it?
I know. I know. Totally narcissistic. But, really? how could it?