This is the last year of my life in my twenties. The fact that I don't really know how I feel about this raises some issues - for one: know thyself. Having an oblique opinion about my age does not justify sitting on the fence, and is probably evidence of unimaginable terror...
What the f***! I'm almost 30!
I'm not afraid of getting old. I am afraid of passively allowing time to pass without being productive in it. In light of human mortality, time is a gift, and I do not like to simply throw gifts to one side while I casually sit and ruminate on what was or what could be.
What is, is what matters.
What is, is a container of vanilla cupcakes that have been screaming my name ever since they were handed to me by N in a gesture of "Happy Birthday". So I'm going to ignore my sugar boycott (it is day 4 of my birthday, anyhow) and grab me a cupcake and put the kettle on.
We'll chat later...