I think I’m having a mid-life crisis. At least, that’s what I decided as I was drying my hair at the gym this morning; that’s where I do my best thinking. I turn 35 in exactly one month. Thirty. Five. 35!!
I keep repeating the words ‘thirty five’ over and over, thinking it’ll sound better with repetition, but it doesn’t get any easier to hear. I’m not sure, at this moment, that I hate any two words more than thirty and five. Not even munch. Or moist. Or verbage. Thirty five is the worst of the worst.
Yesterday, in a fit of middle-aged angst, I found myself laying on my bedroom floor (I like laying on carpet) thinking to myself, THIS is my life. THIS. Me in on my bedroom floor, hiding from Caroline and her friend who were trying to play Lady Gaga songs on their recorders, alternating between My First Renovation on HGTV and the NFL on Fox pregame show. I kept staring at Terry Bradshaw’s face wondering what looks different about him and after too long trying to figure it out, I sighed deeply and said ‘so THIS is what my life has become.’
And then I ate three peanut butter swirl brownies. Straight from the freezer.
On the one hand, I’m pretty lucky. I do what I want. I don’t have to work. I’m a lady of leisure. I shouldn’t complain.
But on the other hand, I’ve lost any marketable skill I ever possessed. Somehow I doubt knowing how to do a proper squat and clean and press will help me in any future professional endeavors I choose to pursue. Unless I become a personal trainer.
I don’t know?
Maybe it was just a bad day?
Or, maybe it is a mid-life crisis?
I guess I just figured life would be different. You know, like you imagined it would be when you were a kid. Puppies and rainbows and faces free from wrinkles. It’s not bad. It’s not great. It just is. Sometimes I’m completely okay with that. And other days, when I’m hiding from two girls squeaking painfully through the melody of “Bad Romance,” I’m not okay with it at all.
And also? Did Terry Bradshaw do something to his face? He looks different.
Okay, enough whining for one day. I think I’ll go research convertibles and Botox now. Or maybe a tattoo?
Viva la mid-life crisis!