5 Days and Counting

I've got 5 days and a few hours left until I turn the big 25. I wish I could say that my declaration of what my 25th year will be has changed me for the better already. That I'm already working on the novel or getting out more...but I'm not.

I suppose I have no excuse, it's just sheer laziness. The thing is that, life tends to get in the way. Sure I want to do all these different things, but I still have to get up every day and go to work. I have to worry about where my pay check is coming from, how I'm going to pay for my health insurance and whether I will ever have a place of my own and while ideals a great, and the dreams we have for ourselves are what makes us strive to change, we still have to worry about the little things.

I'm lucky in the sense that I have a safety net. My parents are letting me live with them rent free. If my job does end in May, I won't loose my home, I won't have to worry about feeding a family or my pets because I still have people who are willing to put up with me. Sure I doubt it's the situation we saw ourselves in 5 years ago. I thought I'd have a stable job, place of my own, direction in life by now, but I just can't seem to settle down to anything.

It's like I'm never satisfied with what I have now, I'm always thinking the grass is greener somewhere else. That's why I went back to England. That's why I quit copy writing. and that's why that list of possible jobs keeps growing every day...because I don't know what I'm good at (or if I'm good at anything), I don't know how many jobs I'll have to try before something sticks. The one thing I can tell you is that some of the best friends I have, and the greatest stories I ever tell, came from the job I hated the most. Working in a store.

I'm under the assumption that I'll have to return to retail to keep afloat, and that's OK. So I won't be a published author by the time I'm 25, I won't have a husband, a stable job or a place to call my own. Maybe If I stopped worrying about the planning so much, and what I should have by the age of 25...I might actually start enjoying myself. Stranger things could happen.

And at the very least, if this week sucks, i can write that off as a byproduct of my disastrous 24th year, and move on to the 25th and hope for better things.