The Problem With Getting Older isn’t the Number…

…it’s when you’re blindsided with the fact you’re getting older.

I’m not even talking about the big life events:  getting married (no ring on my finger), having a baby (won’t be happening), or buying a house (my apartment mocks the mere idea).  No, I’m talking about much smaller things, little moments that bring with them the self-awareness that you’re not young and cool anymore.

Specifically:  when I was a wee lass in my teens or early twenties, it would’ve taken me 15 minutes to set up and tweak this blog to my liking.  At 28, however, I’ve found myself spending a large chunk of the day attempting to accomplish that very same task, my brain boggled by this new-fangled technology interwebz thing.

What the hell happened to me?

Oh, I’m sure there are folks laughing at me and my foolish ways, mocking me for thinking 28 is ‘old’.  It’s not old, but it’s older.  And I found there’s a line one crosses in their mid-twenties where they just can’t do the things they once did with little to no effort.  I can’t pull all-nighters anymore, at least not without the promise of a nap the next day, and I certainly can’t drink like I used to.  And apparently I no longer have the intuitive computer genius I once boasted so proudly.

Basically what I’m saying is that this blog is in a massive state of flux.  I’m brand new around here, an I’m still poking about, figuring out what works and what doesn’t, what I can do and what I can’t, and how the hell to even do the things I know I should be able to.  I’m messing around with stuff, so stuff will be changing.

So to any visitors who happen to pass through:  please be gentle in your judgments.  And maybe check back again in a few days?

 

 

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3 responses to “The Problem With Getting Older isn’t the Number…

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