I wore all black on Friday to mourn the loss of my twenties. They were awesome and will be sorely missed.I'm officially 30. I've been in a funk about it for some time. Recall my obsession with a 23 year old boy? Yeah, that was a little bit of a mini midlife crisis. On Friday, my birthday, we spoke on the phone and in the middle of the conversation it just dawned on me that I am fucking out of my mind. A home-schooled Catholic boy? A 23 year old? What in the hell do we have in common? NOTHING, of course.
I do still think he's adorable. However, it kinda clicked that it's not an appropriate relationship in any way, shape or form and I am no longer going to pursue the poor boy.
I sort of get the feeling that he feared for his soul when he was around me. I'm the devil tempting him to do immoral things. Though, I thought about those immoral things often, I would've never acted on them. Proof: I spent Saturday night in bed with a male friend - while I was completely drunk - and nothing more than sleeping occurred.
See. I'm virginal, too!
Anyway, now that the 'official' day is over, my anxiety about being 30 has subsided a bit. I'm grateful that nothing more than my mini boy toy crisis occurred. If you recall, when I had my quarter-life crisis at 25 I quit my job and went to college full-time. I had planned on 30 being much worse. I'm glad I didn't end up married to a Catholic boy, barefoot and pregnant with his Catholic baby.