I'm old--way old. No more birthdays please. I remember when November 7th was an exciting day for me. Now it's much more ominious.
To think, 22 was always the number on my basketball jerseys in junior high and volleyball jerseys in high school. I remember thinking that 22 was a totally cool number. Then, I turned 22. Today.
I do not have my life together. I have no more idea of where on earth I'm going than I did 5 years ago. I am completely and utterly clueless. I am a butterfly that could drift away with any wind or get squashed on any windshield. At what point does life REALLY begin? And at what point are you REALLY living your life? I think I always expected to know by this age. 22. And I am still me.
I liked 21 better.