The weekend always presents an ideological problem. Am I too old to stay out all night dancing? Should I go to dinner and call it a night? I’ve accepted that my twenties are somewhat or a “no man’s land.” Feeling lost is a sensation I’ve become quite familiar with. There are so many places in this city I want to see; so much left to explore. One part of me still feels like a teenager ready to bar hop and schmooze, yet the other part of me wants to cook my boyfriend a great dinner, have some wine, watch Dateline, and go to sleep. The main problem is my body and not the way you’re all thinking.
I can’t function on a few hours sleep anymore. A hangover can seemingly last for days. The idea of vodka makes me feel physically ill. I’m no spring chicken. I’m 27 and two months (as of yesterday). When I was in college I honestly thought I’d be married by now. HA. Oh how little I knew then. I didn’t even know who I was at 22 let alone who I’d want to be with. The boy I wanted back then could never have given me what I wanted/needed. So now here I am, older and somewhat wiser, stuck between two worlds.
My song of the day is from the oh so cool 90’s. A time when things were far more simple and I was far more innocent. This band is the epitome of angst-y and that’s the kind of mood I’m in today. Frustrated at this bridge between young and wild and mature and settled; I’m just looking for someone to sit in a dark corner (in front of a fireplace, natch) of a dive bar on Friday, then let me obsess over every detail of dinner on Saturday night. Oh and cook me breakfast. Is that so much to ask?