Two eight

Tuesday night I didn’t fall asleep until well after 2 a.m. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I read before bed, I didn’t go anywhere near the computer after work, I watched 10 minutes of the Weather Channel. Nothing helped.

And so I laid there. Staring at the ceiling and then the wall while I tried to think about nothing. Which is damn near impossible. Because I think that’s what you’re supposed to do in yoga, which makes every attempt to get you there, but all I was thinking about last time was “Really? This is yoga? Why haven’t I done this before? We’re basically just power-napping right now!” And then I thought about the nap I was
gonna take that weekend and how it was the first one I’d have taken in the past month because I’ve been busy and here’s why I have been busy and blah blah shut up already.

Tuesday night’s insomnia was nothing new, but the thoughts running through my head were. You see, today I turn 28. No big deal, right? Right, just like every other year of my 20s (after 21 of course). But for some reason, in those 2 hours after I attempted to go to bed, 28 seemed really scary.

If I had to metaphor it for you, it’d be like I was about to bungee jump (which I would never do in real life because that’s how your leg gets torn off and also, heights? Holy shit.). I was standing there, holding on and scared. I didn’t know what it was going to be like, I wasn’t ready for it and what in the hell had even brought me here?

On Tuesday night, that’s how I felt about my impending birthday. You guys, I have never felt like that about a birthday. I thought it’d come at 30, which makes so much more sense, because 30! No more 20s!

And here’s where it gets all therapy-like. Bear with me for a minute. Sidenote: Found a new therapist, that returns phone calls! One less thing to worry about! Now, if we could just stop playing phone tag and set up an appointment already…

You know what I thought about Tuesday night? Plans. Like, the plans when you’re younger and think you can control life to an extent and figure by this age you’ll do this and that age you’ll do that and 16-year-old me thought that by 28 I’d be married with one kid already, if not two. Funny how things work out.

I don’t know what I thought I’d be doing for work at this time, but I know an entertainment magazine of some sort was the priority. Glad that didn’t happen, though, because I’m pretty sure there aren’t any based in Louisville, at least not the kind I want to work for. And I need to stay here. This is where my heart is. Also, Derby.

Every once in a while – and it’s very rare – I feel like it’s Groundhog Day, but only for me. I’m doing the same things I’ve always done the same way I’ve always done them but around me, everyone else is moving on, changing, growing.

It’s silly. I worry about silly things. Because life, right now, for me? Is great. Is it what I thought it would be when I was 16? Nope. Is that a bad thing? HELL no. When I was 16 I also thought that being treated like crap by a guy was OK because hey, it was attention. Things change, people change, and I’m glad I’m where I am today because who said I’d be happy if I’d gotten what I thought I would when I was 16 by now?

It’s dumb to be scared, because it’s just another birthday – just another year that doesn’t really mean anything unless I make it mean something. And I plan to. Good things, remember? And I’ll bungee jump (metaphorically, not in real life). I’ll go into 28 willingly, not holding on to 27 for dear life because I’m used to it and I know it’s
safe and OK and happy and fine.

So after those two hours of anxiety-ridden tossing and turning Tuesday night, reading several articles on Cracked to get my mind off things and listening to a song Baby Einstein introduced me to first thing Wednesday morning, I was fine. I still am fine. And I’ll be fine. Just don’t ask me to bungee jump for real. I like having both legs.

P.s. The song Cheesebob told me about was Fun.’s “Be Calm.” Should become my motto. But it’s addicting and we sing it loud and I love it a lot.

Also, while I am scared of heights, that doesn’t mean I won’t try new things if they’re up high. What do I mean? Well there’s a good chance yours truly is riding in a balloon in the Derby Festival’s balloon race. WHAT? Let the irrational fears of death by balloon crash commence.

Oh, and happy birthday to me. Twenty-eight. Bring it.

Published by Laura

I've got a few stories to tell.

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