I woke up this morning and examined my nose for warts. Unmarried 30yr old spinsters are dangerously close to the witchy warty stages of life. People have almost stopped asking you when you’re going to marry. They’ve determined underlying plumbing issues to be the cause of this affliction and bestow upon you
furtive unabashed looks of “hai hai unmarried at 30 – whatever are her poor parents going to do”.
But even though I make a big deal out of this to friends – growing older, not the unmarried bit, I realise I’m grateful for the years I’ve lived through ’cause they’ve made me the person I am. Even more surprising than that is how it’s liberating because now I’m not considered ‘brash’ for having low threshold for bullshit. Now it’s just part of the territory. Yeah, bitches – I ain’t taking that shit no more.
I have however finally started jotting down a bucket list, something I never did in my 20s as I believed that decade was about just living – and I hold on to that. I can’t bear the thought of doing things out of a list when you can flail your arms, swing about and hum “La la la la” and your very valid defense is that you’re still in your 20s. Now, 30s is the time to focus on getting things done. Things that my old bones may be too weary to manage 10yrs down the line. Also having a list ensures I don’t forget anything something which I have started doing. Case in point: the dream job epiphany loss syndrome of early 2015. Sigh.
Must read up on early onset dementia.