mayday mayday.

ok, so it's more like may 4th. i am sadly late for any sort of dancing around the maypole or even a couple cries for help over the airwaves. no, all i can do to celebrate the arrival of this the merry month of may is groggily rub my eyes and realize.

the time, the time, oh flying.
the good writing habits, dying dying.
the reader rolling eyes and sighing.

no, but seriously. may? mais, oui.

i suppose this is the moment i should start waxing pathetic about leaving my twenties behind, but i'm actually kind of excited.

excited to be really becoming a woman. kidding.
excited about really becoming an adult. kind of kidding.
excited about being taken seriously. seriously.

ok, not really. i am just complacent. but not the smug kind of complacent. just happy to be here. in this surreal little city. in this surreal little life. i mean, 10 years ago, i certainly faced the possibility of not making it this far. which is horrendously melodramatic, but it's true. i read a fantastically honest cancer memoir over the weekend, and it blew my sad little mind in the way it treated the disease and the experience with no kid gloves whatsoever. it was messy and ugly and he didn't make himself a hero for battling a horror that most will never have to. because as he put it, 'if you're an asshole before cancer, you'll still be an asshole after". and while i hope that i'm not one of those, i think i'm still the same person. just alive.

i would like to think that the experience of having a real life experience well before i was supposed to gave me a bit of perspective that carried me through my twenties.

but really, i fumbled through it blindly like most people fumble through every decade. with the beautiful human tendency to fuck it all up, then learn from it, then fuck it up again.

may my thirties be no different.