After four weeks of being away, I am back in the editing chair again. My apologies for the radio silence. Trust me when I say it had been completely unintentional. Give a girl a month-long holiday in Asia and you’ll get a guaranteed absence from social media, all messaging and whatsoever in return. Of course I did somehow manage to find time to watch The Walking Dead (hello Lucille), Girls (beautiful scene in the last episode), Shameless (what?!) and The Good Wife (can we have more of Jeffrey Dean Morgan please?) — but enough about my sinful vices.
I should know better, being a thirty-year-old and all. That’s right, I turned thirty recently — I’m officially part of the thirties club now. The big 3-0, or otherwise known as the end of
the world your youth. I was hoping I could hold it off a little longer, but my efforts have been rather unsuccessful (people who have figured out eternal youth, message me).
One thing that changes when you turn thirty (apart from feeling tired all the time and not being able to hold your liquor anymore) is your mindset. It stops you for a moment and more than ever do you realize how quick time passes. You start thinking about things that are supposed to matter. Marriage, having kids, buying a house. For years, we’ve tried to avoid these discussions but it seems that now there’s no escaping it. Not with your friends and family getting married and all, having baby productions going on and the silent but ever-ticking biological clock that is haunting me like it did Captian Hook. For the first time, things like these are becoming more substantial than they ever were for us.
But, I have the feisty spirit of a twenty-year-old (if I say so myself), skin is still good and boobs are still up here where I can see them. The day I do not see them and I have to drag them on the floor (sorry for this image), is the day I shall officially call myself old. Until then, old is not in this lady’s dictionary.
Signing off, yours truly, young and perky.