Week 31

   I can't decide if I'm young or old. On one hand I feel like such a youngster at heart. If I see a swing set you bet your behind I"ll be on it and if there's a slide, I'm the first one in line to go down it. I want to live in a tree house and I love to build miniature log cabins out of twigs. I prefer eating dessert before dinner and I just bought a hula hoop and learned how to use it. I'm about to quit my job, move to Hawaii, and I have absolutely no job lined up, nor any idea of where I'm going to live. That sounds like something someone fresh out of college would do, not a thirty-something-year old, right? 

   Yet on the other hand, I just invested in some anti-wrinkle cream for my face and I'm diligent about wearing sunscreen. I need a full night's rest and I don't ever want to sleep in another hostel bed. I can't handle cheap liquor and I recently bought my first pair of insoles. Now that kind of stuff sounds way more age appropriate. I also just decided to ignore my inclination to cash out my retirement from my work; I figured a 401K set up in my name would probably be a good thing...although it took some convincing from my coworkers to come to that decision. Planning for the future is a logical matter, but still, cold hard cash right now sounds way better...and more fun. 

   

   So who am I? At 31, I should know that answer. And I do. I'm a little bit of both. I'm young at heart and youthful in spirit, but this silly number keeps following me around and keeps getting bigger. This whole concept of numbering your years is just flat out ridiculous. Thinking about it, I've never really acted "appropriately" so why on earth would I start acting age appropriately now??

   

    My friend Noelle just gave me the best card today. On the front of the card it said "How old would you be..." On the inside it finished the question with: "If you didn't know how old you are?" 

    I think that card pretty much describes how I feel in a nutshell. I know darn well I wouldn't respond with 31 and honestly the number would probably fluctuate; some days it would be high and other days it could be super low. When I see a puppy husky or eat an ice cream sundae I think it would be 8. After a long day of work without much sleep it may be 64. When I see a hot guy and he smiles at me, I feel like I'm 16. Yep, this whole numbered aging thing is bollocks, complete poppycock. 

When I wear my leather jacket with my favorite purple dress on a night out at the Fenix, I feel like I'm 24.