As I’ve already said enough times it was my birthday at the weekend.
It has dawned on me this morning.
I’m not looking forward to filling in my next form. I’m pretty sure it will be ’26-30′. That kind of stuff bothers me. I don’t want to be lumped in with adults.
When I was very little I thought 21 was old. I have an elder cousin, or at least I should say she is my Mum’s cousin and she was the coolest person in the world (aside from Dave Brown who lived next door and would break dance in our lounge). She was 21. That was my point. She seemed so much wiser than I could ever imagine being. She went to University and her bedroom was covered in pictures of bands.
I’m five years beyond that now.
I wonder what the little version of me would make of me now. I’m not so bothered about what teenage Paul would make of 26 Paul because teenage Paul needs to have a good long hard look in the mirror before he starts talking about anyone else’s appearance but what would I make of me?
I don’t feel any different. That’s what surprises me every year. I assume I’ll rise into consciousness and be a wholly different person, an adult maybe but with each year that passes I realise this is becoming increasingly unlikely. I’m just me. It makes the whole pass a lot easier.
Age really has nothing to do with anything.
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