25

Happy birthday to me.

Tonight I will go out with friends, but Eric went to work early today, so since early this afternoon I have been alone, floating around my house, trying not to do any work because it's my birthday. (I did the dishes, but otherwise I've refrained admirably.) I played The Sims, played with the electronic 20Q game my dad sent me for my birthday (which is, darn it, kind of amazing), lay on the couch covered in cats and drowsily read Housekeeping. I left the house only to retrieve the mail. I received two birthday cards: one from Pop (my grandpa) and one from the car dealer who sold us our Jeep. The latter was addressed to me, but with Eric's last name, which was startling. It's a little confusing, actually, since my name on the title is my name. Maybe since we fibbed and told him we were engaged (to better our chances of qualifying for a loan), he assumed that by now my name would have changed.

But while avoiding purpose, I have found myself reflecting on things that might not have occurred to me with a head full of Spanish and critical essays. For instance, this is the first birthday on which I have felt kind of old. Maybe it's because I'm just now developing health problems, or because my mom reminded me that 25 years is a quarter of a century. Or maybe it's just because the years have been going by so quickly; I feel like I've suddenly become 25. Will I become 30, 50, 70 so unexpectedly?


Hmmm. I had more to say, but I got a couple of phone calls and it threw me off; I'm not even sure where else I was going with all of this melancholy rambling.