Why am I writing this post, you may wonder? Well if the fact that I currently have That’s My Goal by Shayne Ward on repeat isn’t enough of a reason for you, then please keep reading.
I found myself sitting on my shoe storage box yesterday, staring at the wall. The same wall that I was flung against last year during an unexpected night of passion (Frequent blog readers, you be knowin…) However, at this point, there was no passion. Nothing was heating up apart from my Fitbit as it was charging, and yes, I was close to being fired against that wall again, but by my own force this time. I was stuck between ‘Do I get my life together?’ and ‘Ah sh*t I forgot to get the washing in, again.’ Grim, I know. I don’t know if we can blame the fact that I haven’t eaten chocolate for about a week, I am desperately needing a cuddle from Zac Efron, or the decision that I would be (attempting, ATTEMPTING) giving up takeaways for lent. Probably all three tbh, but either way, I realised the arrival of my 24th year on January 4th had hit me like the bus in Mean Girls.
I had big plans for 24, at some point in my life I’m sure I thought I would be married with a child. Lol, I know. No thank you. The closest I have ever been to my wedding day is opening WhatsApp voice clips of romantic Ed Sheeran songs, sent every so often by a guy I kissed once last summer. And the thought of giving birth just makes me think “What guy do I know that I would honestly allow to see me in that state?” Honestly, none. Zero. Zilch. No thank youuu. I mean, I hate the thought of the guy I like hearing me pee through the door, and seeing me in certain, er, angles, when the lights are on. Scrap the bouquet, scrap the baby name list – both are gonna have to wait because I am STRESSED.
The reality of 24 is still living at home, the horrific fear of my driving test, going up jean sizes, finding my first three grey hairs (Yep, THREE) and trying to balance “I’m so young and carefree!” with “I really can’t waste much time on this!”
I mean, where are we supposed to be at 24? Isn’t this the awkward age where everything is so different for everybody? Is it normal that some of us are dripping in Chanel while the rest of us clear our online shopping basket when we realise we have to pay five quid for delivery? I’m obvs the second gal, if I hadn’t made that point clear enough by now (please see breakdown that got us to this point in the post.) Wanting a high-flying, travel rich career, yet can’t afford the Ryanair seat sale? Too old for statement platform, leg lengthening heels, too young for skin coloured tights?? Too young for David Beckham, too old for his sons??? Can somebody please tell me what is going on because 24 is giving me the absolute CREEPS. Everyday be feeling like the moment when Bridget Jones runs out into the snow in her knickers. You feel me?
Hope you enjoyed my casual little meltdown here, huns! Will keep you updated about the rest of my year, of course.