I joined Facebook. I was feeling my inner sheep. Okay,
I am old. The full weight of that has hit me now. There is a tendency, when losing touch with people, to remember them as you last saw them. This accounts for the number of double takes when I see relatives that I hadn’t seen for a year and notice that my cousins have sprung up a good six inches in the interim. This is why your elderly Aunt Edna always has to pinch your cheeks and remark on how you’ve grown. In Edna’s mind, you’re still twelve.
My brain is still reeling from checking out all sorts of people I haven’t seen for 10-14 years and marvel at how old they’ve all gotten. They’ve got jobs, and kids, and houses and stuff.
Oh yeah, so do I. But seeing it in others really drove it home.
So when, exactly, do you feel like a grown-up? Because I still feel like I’m playing house sometimes, even though we’re on our second house, and we’ve got a second kid, and pets and a mortgage and cars that require inspections and taxes filed and groceries to buy. Sometimes I suspect I’ll be on my deathbed still waiting for “real” life to begin. I don’t mean to say that it’s all slipping by while I worry about the minutiae – I am enjoying this ride – it’s just sneaky the way “next year” has a way of turning into “last year.”