Someone asked me how old I am, yesterday. I said, "I'm twentyffff - twenty-five. I almost said 'twenty-four'!" I added, laughing.
Then quite suddenly - startling myself as much as him, I think - I shouted "I'm twenty-six!"
Oh dear. My life stopped at twenty-four, apparently.
Monday, February 9, 2009
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12 comments:
Haaaaaaaaaaa haaaaa! Oh mah gawd! I feel you on that one.
I'm twenty siiiiiiiiix and a half! eek!
i don't even want to hear it. try 27 lookin like you're 12......yeah.......
I swear-to-god, the day I turned twenty six, everyone around me suddenly turned 19. (I am NOT exaggerating... at all. Not even a little.) The age exchange, in my new daily introductions, has become a sad, sad game of "how many years older am I" than the person standing in front of me. The average is 6. ... *sniffle* It's hard being a O.G.
Whenever I pick up a patient's chart, their age is one of the first things I see. I have always had a tendency to think that they are getting pretty old and kinda creaky once they reach their 50's. It was in the midst of such ruminations recently that I had a sudden internal news flash...these people are actually younger than I am! Somehow that concept had never actually jelled in my mind up until that moment. How I have managed to maintain a faux mental image of myself as early middle aged (sorta 40 something) up to now is a bit of a mystery. But there is something about hitting the big six-Oh(!) later this year that penetrates the mental fog. It's hard to finess that! And I am a bit traumatized. If you hear something creaking, it will probably be me! Dad
Oooooh. WHY does he hire so many OOOOLLLLD people?!
Look at you all, slobs in your twenties. Old ass slobs.
Tara Belle, isn't that when you left initially? At 24? Once you leave the Salt Valley, it is easy to lose track of time and birthdays are nothing compared to baby goats!
I was 25 until the sad sad day that I turned 30. And I have been in a haze of denial ever since.
We can blame Dad! Age-denial is obviously an inheritable trait, and, in our case, Dad is the originator. So let's thank Dad for offering himself for blame, and then call him a jerk.
Thanks, Dad.
Jerk.
You are certainly welcome, all of you. So now you have to ask yourselves this...is a little age denial a curse, or a blessing? Dad
I, on the other hand, always age myself UP a year and then have to go back and correct myself. I do it to my kids, too. I always say Coen is a month older than he is. Pat had to correct me on that the other day. I was all "what's two weeks give or take?" and he's all "um, half a month".
In that case, Alina, you should cover your bases and rephrase your "about me" to read "a mother of of two starved boys aged 2(ish. 3, maybe?) and some-amount-of-months."
And I took the liberty of changing "hungry" to "starved" because...well, for no reason other than wanting to be a jerk.
Like Dad.
Blame Dad.
Thanks, Dad!
tara: the other night i had a dream that you worked as a barista at the Futuristic University of Utah for 24 hours a day, every day, without sleeping. i was a private detective, and i'd frequent your establishment. also, my clients when they wanted to get ahold of me would leave their name and numbers with you, and you'd pass them to me secretly when i'd come in. but then i woke up and realized that i was actually on a goat farm, and so are you... i assume, still.
dear tara,
come back come back.
now!!
anna
p.s. please.
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