Happy Birthday to me

I turned 27 today.

I'm saying that more for my benefit that anybody else's. I keep reiterating it to myself, thinking that if I do, it will finally sink in and, and panic of impending old age will overtake me. The past couple months I have been thinking of myself as 27, so I would be prepared. I think it might have worked.

It's not that 27 is old. It's not. It's just that it's getting a little too close to 30 for comfort.

It's not that 30 is old. It's just different. It means giving up that "20-something" title, which denotes youth and wildness and spontaneity. When you turn 30, it seems as though, if you haven't already, you should be working harder to be an adult.

But I think I am okay with 27.

There were, however, a couple disconcerting moments today. I got to the gym, after a day of work, and realized that I was wearing one black earring and one white. "Oh no, old age is already kicking in," I thought.

To celebrate, my friends Jenn and Sarah took me to dinner tonight. A little cheesecake is good consolation (Although, now that I'm older, it's one of those food groups I need to limit, right?). Yeah right.

Lesson learned: You don't have to be old to be spacey.