A Fine Vintage.

My grandfather.

Thirty.

Tattuesday.

TwentyFive

Montreal Part 1

Beers. Pools. Patios.

Magic Tape Twelve by TheMagician

Sixteen.

Montreal tomorrow. Squeeeeeal!

Fourteen.

A serious case of the Sundays has stolen my fervor for this day.

A far too jovial Saturday night has not helped the situation in the slightest; yes I could have stopped myself, but I didn't want to.

Self inflicted sickness is very often the worst kind.

Eleven.

There is so much emotion inside of me; this very moment; but I’m having the hardest time conveying it.

It could be the grapes; it could be the late hour- I really don’t know.

What I do know is that I am going to bed tonight, tired and a little bit tipsy, content; because I have just had the most amazing evening with my friends. We toasted the evening with, not one, but two $80 dollar bottles of wine, provided by a lovely, generous and witty elder friend of ours, PJ. He had us in stitches!

Sometimes when I think of the times we are having, I get emotional- it’s an intense happiness; and I haven’t found the words to describe this feeling yet. But I will.

Just not tonight.

Nine.

"If you're walking down the right path and you're willing to keep walking, eventually you'll make progress."

~Barack Obama

One foot in front of the other...

Six.Seven.Eight.

I’m what people would call a weekender; preferring to be nestled inside the bosom of my own home from Monday to Friday. But once the weekend arrives, an alter ego takes hold of me. Ok, so maybe she isn’t a complete alter ego, but she is certainly more favorable to a late night. This ego also happens to enjoy more than a couple of sodas and a typical 4am to 6am bedtime; anytime in between is considered clover.

Sundays, and sometimes Mondays, I curse the devil and vow to never walk down the dark road again- believing whole heartedly that I can uphold this vow; but once the cloud, that is THE hangover, lifts, I am once again ripe for another fit of merrymaking. At twenty two, twenty three and twenty four, I could be effortlessly persuaded into a 6am’er on a Monday evening; not today.

Those days are clearly gone.

Consuming more than four drinks and omitting the obligatory gallon of water before bed, surely guarantees a room spinning, foot on the ground kind of hangover- the only strain I’m graced with at present- if that isn’t a sign of aging, I don’t know what is.

It’s in those moments where I feel enlightened; and it becomes excruciatingly definite, that I am no longer a child.

Five.

Currently I am what you would call tipsy- which is what my friends and I refer to as drunk when we are trying to save face.

Fridays do that me.

When Friday afternoon hits, I cannot be trusted to hold back- holding back is not my M-O.

However, I fear that writing too much in this state will result in internet regret; and the subsequent deleting of, said, drunken posts.

Sometimes, in these moments, I wonder when I will "settle down". But since I'm single, that tends to be a passing inclination, reserved for these late night moments when I go to bed, drunk and alone.

But that's drunk downer talk; and no one likes a downer.

Goodnight world; you, crazy, blurry, booze soaked world.

Four.

Today is the fourteenth, and that makes it one of the best days of the month. Not because the fourteenth day of, this, the month of July, happens to be a Thursday- which does serve to sweeten the effervescence of this day; but because tomorrow is the fifteenth, and that, people, means payday!

Payday is the day that every twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight and twenty nine year old looks forward to the most. It’s the day where the pit in our stomachs, will briefly recede; because for a moment the clawing grapple, that living paycheck to paycheck induces, temporarily subsides.

The night before payday is like Christmas Eve; it’s the night we wait with childhood anticipation for real-life Santa to bestow upon us our bi weekly gift. Always promising to be good and spend wisely the next pay period; a promise that will no doubt be brushed by the way side with tomorrow’s endowment. It’s the cycle- I’m used to it.

I live for payday eve. I’ve been known on an occasion or two to spend my last monies on a tidbit for myself; a reward for making it two more weeks without having to grovel from my parents.

At this point in my life, I call that’s winning.

Nevertheless, today is a special day; Happy Pay Day Eve. Buy yourself something nice!

Three.

"There must be more to life than sitting around wondering if there is more to life"

I do this a lot. I"m going to actively pursue stopping; because when I say it out loud, it resonates so deeply as counter-productive and all together foolish.

Two.

The idea of writing every single day takes me back to my tween years; to my days as a hardcore diarist. I wrote about every minutia; details of notes passed and levels reached on Oregon Trail were fodder for entries. Everything was worth writing down; it’s cute and totally self absorbed at the same time.

But as an adult it’s hard to diary like a child. I mean maybe it’s because I am so out of practice or I don’t care to recall the small things. I forget so easily these days; not because I can’t remember but because I’m too busy being “in my twenties”, that the small things are far too insignificant compared to growing up. I thought by now that I would have “grown up” enough to be able to stop and savor my station in life; but I haven’t really. Or at least I don’t feel as though I have. It’s weird.

I digress.

Writing everyday is going to be challenge for me, not because I can’t write- I can; but what if nothing happens. Discoveries of the exciting variety come less frequently; and gone are the days when things were new- I mean, I’ve lost my virginity, I've had the amazing pleasure of getting my period and my heart has been broken more times than I have fingers- the jig is up.

Today nothing new or exciting happened; it was just another day being twenty six.

One.

Today is my birthday- I am twenty six years old. The picture is of me when I was almost six years old, on the day of my kindergarten graduation; the innocence in my eyes is not lost on me in the slightest. Wide eyed and ready to absorb the world; how cute.

Aren’t birthdays weird? It’s a day just like the last; but it’s incredibly symbolic- it’s crossing yet another threshold marked only by three hundred and sixty five days. On my birthday, despite the many Facebook and text message well wishes, I tend to feel alone; I always shed a few tears on this day; and today will be no different. I’ll never be five, fifteen or twenty five again and the nostalgic in me mourns those times and their passing. Reason and reality hint that things are only getting better; the baby fat is gone, my skin is clear, my hormones are *somewhat* balanced and with each year I inch closer to the woman I want to be. So, yes, the rational side of me knows things are getting better; but today, and every birthday, is a day of reflection, sadness and celebration.

Birthdays are bittersweet; and, like I said, kind of weird.

But today as I cross the threshold into yet another grouping of three hundred and sixty five days, I’ll shed a few tears, have a few drinks and eat a cupcake; because today is my birthday; and, today, I am twenty six.