A new year.

Today’s special post is brought to you by the number 23.

And an old hag. (That’s me!)

So my birthday was two weeks ago, and the idea was to write a birthday post. And then I kept postponing it–and now here we are.

Truth is, while I feel the push to write something, what am I supposed to write about? I can’t write about cutting a cake and watching the cheap candles burn in 10 seconds flat. I could write about how I feel like a new person. How turning 23 has given me new perspective. But it hasn’t.

If I had to nail anything down, it’s that I honestly feel as if my life is slipping away–and what have I done up to this point? I flunked out of a pretty great university–all because of stupid anxiety–and have been floundering around at community colleges ever since. Meanwhile my cousin just graduated earlier this month and is on her way to gaining some independence.

Jealous? Oh you bet. Superseded by pride though, I swear.

For the last two years, every time the graduation cards come around, looking at them knots my stomach right up. This gnawing little voice tells me, “You’re never going to get one of those. You’re just going to be a college dropout who eventually works retail her whole life.” Sometimes it’s hard to disagree.

The idea of not getting my degree until I’m 26/27 is flabbergasting. It could very well be that I’ll be the last one to ever graduate in my family. All to work in an office at a job that doesn’t excite me but will hopefully pay the bills (if I get a job…).

But you know what? I’m going to turn 26/27 anyway. That’s not suddenly changing because I haven’t got my act together. So if I’m going to get old regardless, I might as well make something of all that time. It’s a new year for me.

(Look at that, this post found a purpose after all.)


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