Well, I'm apt to think of the old "make lemonade" adage, but I know it grates at some. Thinking back to a summer love (since I don't have one this year, yet?) from ages, EONS ago. Wow, I'm old.
We had issues he and I. Oh, we had issues. But we had the best actual breakup on my books.
I'm getting ahead of myself. He was the first 28 year old I dated. I was 23. I have since dated 28 year olds while I was 24 and 35. And I've noticed something, something that I noticed in Tai, not too long into our knowing each other. Something turns sour at 28 for men. Maybe it's the next round (or not) of testosterone, or the knowledge that in two more years they'll be 20. But when men turn 28, they get grumpy. And reminisce on "when I was 23."
Me? I was born on Nov. 28. My mom was born on Feb. 28. She was 28 when she had me. So I thought 28 was going to be this magical year. Instead, it was completely forgettable except for the fact that it was at the beginning stretch of my recovery from/into this bipolar disorder. You know what, I think I went to a hockey game. Yeah, my dad and brother picked me up from work, and we went to a Pens vs. Capitols hockey game. It was the least exciting game of my life, though my dad meant well. I was in a bad place, I guess. I was turning 28.
In SATC-TM, Carrie says to Louise, your twenties are for having fun, your thirties are for angst, and your forties are for paying for the drinks. Louise sparkles her smile and says, "In that case, I'll have another one."
I have a feeling I'm going to like the next decade better than this one. God give me the grace to enjoy each of the four years left (every minute of every day) until I get there.
It's Monday, after all. Anything can happen.
3 hours ago