So just 2 weeks ago, I turned the grand old age of 36. For some reason, this number holds some resonance with me and I have been trying to work out why.
I’ve never really been one to mourn the passing of each year. I have friends who hold each birthday with contempt whether that be because its one step closer to grey hairs and wrinkles or whether its because they haven’t achieved what they had planned to by that particular age.
Well, I’m kind of lucky as red heads seem to keep the grey at bay for much longer than anyone else and as for wrinkles? Well, you can’t stop something if it really wants to head south so whats the point of worrying. And I’ve never had a life plan. I can barely plan 24 hours in advance, let alone my whole life.
But as I said, 36 seems like a great age. I can’t get it out of my head that 36 seems like it should be a pivotal year for me. And anyone who knows me will tell you I am not known for great waves of optimism, far from it to be exact (Just call me Mrs Glass-Half-Empty) so quite why I like the idea of 36 I don’t know. My mum gave birth to my younger twin brothers when she was 36. My dad said he took the plunge to have a whole new career change at 36. What will I do at 36? Maybe I’ll finally make a break with Sanctuary?
Anyway whatever lies behind it, 36 is good. 36 is all sparkly. 36 is gorgeous.
Erm….right….thats enough optimism for today. It’s making me feel slightly dirty and ashamed of myself. Anyone for vampires, death and darkness?