On Being Closer to 40 than 12

I turned twenty-seven this week. Not that that's a big deal, I guess, but I'm in my late 20s now. So why was it so weird to think that I'm closer to being forty than twelve? Not scary or gross, but weird. And here I was pretty sure that I still was twelve.

Anyway, this blog is new. I moved all of my old posts from my other blog to this shiny new one. Just 'cause I'm whimsical like that. Or disgruntled. Or both.

I've been really busy lately, what with more of my friends graduating college and not being able to find jobs. Or losing the jobs they have. Plenty of social time. Poncho has an awful job answering phones. I, on the other hand, haven't gotten a single callback. Must be something about eight years of childcare experience that screams "Not a people person!" or something. I swear it's a good resume other than the obvious laid-off-teacher red flag all over it. I do dog walking in the afternoons though. For a friend. For free. I also cook and clean and wear an apron and stuff.

I, uhm... ugh. Screw everything.