It has been my 24th birthday for about an hour and a half now. I’m up because in my dotage, my tummy responds to normal food like wood responds to gasoline and a match: quickly and unpleasantly with burny nasty fumes. And thus I’ve been relegated to the couch before I kill my husband under a festering cloud. You now know way more about me than you ever wanted to know, but they say with old age comes wisdom and my sense of wisdom says that I should share my experiences candidly. So if my poor stomach helps the folks who read this that are the “farters” in their relationship, I’m glad I could ease the shame, considering I left my sense of shame somewhere back in Istanbul in 2004. Don’t mention it; I’m here to help.
I liked 23; truthfully, I liked 22 better and 21 better still. From my current perspective, the best 15-month period of my life started in Spain and ended with moving in with Tom: maximum fun combined with a minimum of responsibility, extensive travel, new love, first car purchase, good grades, and great times with friends and family. That was the end of twenty and the start of twenty one. Twenty two, the year of engagement, was awesome, but burdened with adult responsibilities. And this past year, the first year of marriage, was a smashing success coupled with a wicked ass-kicker of a career trip-up with a sprinkling of mental breakdown and then stabilization in for seasoning. So the second year of marriage is going to be the First Year of Auntie-Hood and the First Year of Hawaii and the First Year of Pseudo Self Employment and the First Year of Consistently Medicated Brain. Some of you may consider a medicated mind to be a numbing drawback; I say you haven’t found the proper calibration yet. I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the way I used to be. So in general, I predict that 24 will be the year that things really start to get rolling on getting my adult life on track and the year that my protracted adolescence ends.
I think it’s going to kick ass. If nothing else, it’s going to be a ‘wicked pissah’ (tm Dad) of a ride. Can’t hardly wait to get going on the next step.
And with respect to my failing internal systems, I also think that tomorrow at my birthday dinner I will order the hummus and veggie platter at Quarry House instead of the 1/2 lb. beef burger.