Age is just a number …
Recently I have begun to consider the fact I am either ageing rapidly or – and this is a preferable option – have an old soul that is beginning to aggressively assert itself more now I am straddling mid-late 20s. There are several indicators that suggest something is awry, not least the classic I try to really quash because I feel like a gnarled beast who lives in a tower, their youth and all its poor decisions, a distant memory; feeling cold for girls who have taken an ill advised, or indeed well advised fashion risk.
I enjoyed, nay, related to No! I Don’t Want to Join a Book Club far too much for someone 34 years younger than the protagonist.
I only got horribly drunk one time on this summer and whilst it did involve me sullying someone’s welcome mat, the summer before this one involved far more sullying in general**. I haven’t kicked on beyond 2am for a long time. Months. In fact, on the night of the welcome mat incident, I slurred happily to Tam, ‘isn’t it great, staying out dancing until 3am!’ to which Tam responded, ‘Liv, it’s 1.15.’
I get atrocious hangovers that no longer justify the previous evening.
I sent my mother a link to an article about Nick Berry with the words ‘I loved him!’ Nick Berry was the star of Heartbeat. I shared my love (I daresay crush) with my Nana.
I recently was completely flabbergasted when my Significant German told me, with no shame, he doesn’t know who Dolly Parton is. Dolly Parton.
Just the other day, during a class in which we were learning about the Simple Past tense, the exercise called for my students to correct such statements as ‘Christopher Columbus discovered New Zealand’ with ‘No, Christopher Columbus discovered America.’ Except the student didn’t know what Christopher Columbus discovered, and his neighbour couldn’t tell me where Beethoven was from (horribly awkward given the fact this class was taking place in a town not two hours away from the one Beethoven actually came from) and before I could stop myself, I tsked ‘what do they teach you in school these days.’ My students are all in their late 30s. One is about 60.
I am concerned by the fact my belief in tarot cards may be waning, which can happen with age. Cynicism, world weariness and wariness kicks in, blotting out the light of boundless curiosity. This could, of course have something to with my last reading, which revealed several devils and horrendous possibilities and ultimately led to the reader having to perform a cleansing ritual on her cards in the ocean.
I have lost my time and patience for fashion and for those interested in it. I despair over people who bouncily call themselves ‘fashionistas’ and post instagram pictures of cupcakes and pigeon-toed stilletos on their painfully cool blogs which consist of no words, just Instagrams and quotes from other people and links to other people’s articles. In fact, Instagram in general pisses me off beyond belief. Just stop it.
And finally, a couple of Sundays ago, I had ‘coffee and cake’ with my Significant German. Everybody knows ‘coffee and cake’ on a Sunday is a classic old person activity.
I am old.
And I quite like it.
** To be fair this could have more to do with the fact that I have finally, finally come to terms with the fact I am a God awful drunk. I’m a marvellous Two or Three Glasses, I am a terrible One Bottle.