T Minus Nine Days, One Hour and Eleven Minutes

A wise young person told me the other day that turning 19 is exciting because of the drinking, 20 because of finally out-living the teens (that's where he's at in three days), and 21 because of the legal drinking and gambling in the States. And then there's me.

In nine days, I will officially be old. Don't ask me what that means for everyone already beyond me because you probably don't want to know what I think.

It's not so much that 22 is old. It's not. At all. It's more that I haven't done anything I wanted to have done by now.

I was supposed to be married at 20, have my first child at 21, and have graduated University with an accredited degree by 22. At the rate I'm going, I won't have any of those until I'm at least 25. All of them? 26 is the earliest.

I'd like to think that I'll be the type to age gracefully...but who am I kidding?! I'm terrified of almost entering my mid-twenties.

I'm in Whistler taking a much needed vacation right now. I haven't gotten away for me time in a very very very long time...and I can't even enjoy it.

I'm broken.

Okay, so maybe 22 isn't even that bad.

Maybe 22 is actually really good.

Aaaaand considering I look like I'm 15, I won't actually look like I'm 22 until I'm in my thirties.

Score.

But.

One day I will wake up, and I will be 32. I won't take 32 as well as 22.

The less credence I give to 22, the easier the bigger numbers will be able to catch me without my noticing.

I think I'm going to need a vacation to recover from this one.