This is an outright sulk. Indulge me. This is my own little pity party
I’m turning 25 in 2 days. 1/4 of a century. And I’ve got to say, I’m not happy about it. I know that this is a minor whinge in the scheme of things. 30 or 40 is probably scarier. But I don’t know about that, I’m not there yet.
I’m turing 25, and I haven’t done any of the things that I had wanted to by this age. By 25 I wanted to own a house. I wanted to be married or well down on the way towards that. I wanted a career that had taken off, and wanted to have found what I’m good at and what my passions are. Normal stuff, nothing too fancy. Instead, I’ve been single for almost 8 years, without even a hint of potential on the love front. I’m not liking the way I look, I’m still the lowest of the low in the company that hired me 2.5 years ago as a graduate, and it’s not what I had planned.
So in 2 days, I’ll be 25, and I guess I’m just disappointed that life hasn’t turned out the way I wanted. For the first time the realisation that life is slipping away from me has dawned, and it’s daunting.
I know that I’ve got a lot going for me, I know that I’m smart, educated and well spoken. I have friends who obviously don’t find me so objectionable as to spend time with me. But somehow, right now, that doesn’t seem to count for much.
So I don’t know what the matter with me is. Maybe I’m just overtired, maybe I’m disillusioned. But I don’t want to turn 25.