Last week I turned 25. It was an un-anguished occasion–I’ve actually been enjoying my birthdays more as I get older. I like to think of May 6th as my own personal saint day rather than birthday: little do people know that in my head we’re actually celebrating San Megan. Self-sanctification is the greatest anti-aging mechanism there is. (I’m KIDDING, obviously. I’m rubbish.)
I’m slightly troubled by the fact that I don’t feel any older than when I was 20. Certain things–like that I still think Nag Champa smells really cool–convince me that I am not yet a real adult. I don’t really mind.
Besotted Gleaner 