I feel like I've reached the point where I'm no longer particularly excited by my own birthday. Although Jack has mentioned that he has bought me a few gifts which I won't turn my nose up at. I like being given things. I wish I could keep the presents but not have to move past the 18-25 age bracket. I don't know, I think I'm just becoming increasingly aware of my own mortality and that's pretty terrifying, especially when these thoughts only tend to creep up on me in the dead of night. Oh well, who needs sleep anyway?
The trouble with being in your twenties is that you assume you should have your life together by now, because that's what you think is supposed to happen after you graduate. You're supposed to know what to do next, apparently. By my age you should already have your dream job and you should maybe be thinking about Settling Down, because that's what society has drilled into you for as long as you can remember. But here's the dirty little secret that no one ever tells you when you're still in school: no one in their twenties has a fucking clue what they're doing (please pardon my french). Honestly, trying to compare your experiences with those of other people in their mid-twenties is going to accomplish absolutely nothing except make you feel miserable and inadequate. So I'm going to try really, really hard not to do that.
My brother shared this on Facebook the other day and it feels pretty appropriate for my mood today:
I am the worst at adulting.
Song of the Day: Hold My Hand by Jess Glynne, because it makes me happy.
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