Monday, November 28, 2011

a rant. and happy holidays.

A friend was over the other day and we complained about the weather for a good ten minutes. We discussed its inconsistencies and the way in which it shuffled poor schmucks like us around our closets until we were dizzy with indecision, unable to commit to the number of layers that are inevitably required during these “Winter” months in Texas.  And then we talked about the upcoming holidays and how it felt strange and unsettling, the way time is cruising this year, willing us to participate in its requirements more quickly than we would like. I told her I've got half a mind to put my very delicate foot down and refuse. I’ve got too much to get done! I want to enjoy autumn! And pumpkins! And all of those "harvest parties" that I'm not invited to! And now it’s "Winter"? And what’s with the Daylight Savings? Seriously. When it gets dark at 5:00pm it’s basically in direct opposition to any kind of productivity, save the eating, of course. Because, you know, if there is anything I’m relatively productive at, it’s eating. (Taco salad is my specialty.)


It feels in between, all of this. Somewhere between last "Winter" and last week, I realized just how old I’m becoming. Not how old I am. Because old is, at the very least, oh, I don’t know, 36? But rather, you know, how old I’m becoming. I’m almost thirty. OH DEAR GOD. Suddenly, as if overnight, I’ve been inundated with questions regarding my marital status and future family plans and retirement fund.  And as if that weren’t bad enough, all of my friend’s uteri are mass producing screaming (and I’ll admit, somewhat charming) children who will inevitably grow up to be renowned investment bankers or something almost awesome like that and all I’ve got to show for myself is a large, lazy dog, a panic-inducing amount of student loans and very dirty floors. And when I say dirty floors, YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

All of this is to say, the "winter" makes me cranky, HOW IS IT ALREADY DECEMBER? (I'm running out of time to enjoy my youth), and being 29 and single in this town = future proprietor of large quantities of cats and accompanying paraphernalia.

And Happy Holidays.

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