Well it kind of has to be doesn’t it really? I mean one minute you’re going to bed feeling like a slightly tired twenty six year old, you fall asleep and wake up feeling like a very groggy twenty seven year old, it just seems a touch unfair. I know there will be sighs around the blogosphere of ‘oh you’re still a baby’ and it irks me. Yes I know twenty seven isn’t that old but it’s that much nearer to thirty, which isn’t old but seems to come with a certain pressure emanating off it that, is hard to describe. Should I have a house by now and stop renting and get a mortgage, is it time to start thinking about kids (as with adoption it can take up to three years, if of course we were accepted), should I have more of an idea of where my life is going, if we are going to move to Brazil for a few years isn’t sooner better than later?
I think it was all these thoughts that gave me a headache as I awoke on my birthday this Tuesday morning. Of course you don’t actually feel any different, in fact I don’t think I have felt particularly older, wiser or indeed more mature since around my 25th birthday. As Mr B’s card, my first of course, jeered sorry reminded me of the fact this was my first birthday as a married man I did have a wave of ‘oh blimey I am actually an adult aren’t I?’ Shouldn’t that revelation have hit me back at 18 when I had already been living away from home for two years and was drinking, working and living ‘an adult life’ no of course it didn’t. No matter how old and mature I said I was, I simply wasn’t. I do have an old head on my shoulders in general though and think my friends would agree with me on that.
Take for example birthday celebrations. I simply didn’t organise anything special or official. I decided haphazardly and a little last minute that last Saturday I fancied a picnic on Parliament Hill and if people could make it I would love it and if not that was cool. Twenty seven isn’t a special one is it, not like the aforementioned thirty which will be a big balls out (well not literally) party like I am planning for Mr B who hits that age in November. No, those of you know him, he is not 27 again.
My aunties both found it very weird that I was twenty seven and went on and on about how old it was, which then made them start saying how old they were (39 and 40) Alice recommended that ‘you stay this age, well that’s what you start telling everyone’. I then wondered if she had met Mr B before I did as until three weeks before we got hitched I had no idea he wasn’t in fact twenty six, and was in fact twenty eight. My attitude when I found out was ‘if you are gonna lie make it count, don’t do two years do five or ten’. I think my new age is weirdest for my Mum who herself is only 43 and said ‘I can’t believe I have a twenty seven year old son’. I was hoping this was more to do with that I am that old already than to my actual existence though you can never tell with Mum.
So do I have any big plans for twenty seven? Well it looks like the move to Brazil for quite some time (more years than months) is becoming ever more possible. However like at New Year I am not going to inundate myself with ‘I should’ or ‘I must’ and have resolutions for the 27th year coming out my eyeballs. The only one thing I need to nip in the bud by the time I am twenty eight is procrastination it gets me nowhere. Anyways here is a pic of me at around the 27 mark taken by the lovely Dom Agius...