Last Thursday was a particularly bad day for me. I found myself crying that evening, while my worried mother watched me, unsure of what she could do to help but urging me to cry because “it’s good to get your emotions out.”
At some point I stopped crying long enough to tell her that the events in the last month had aged me fifty years. I’ve mentioned before how out of touch I feel with my peers and how my teachers always commented that I was unusually mature for my age. I’ve come to view that as a positive trait but right now I’m still grappling with turning 30 and seeing my peers getting married and having children. I feel immature and old at the same time. That’s weird, right?
My head hurts and I probably stared at the computer too long at work today so forgive the brooding.