The roles I play - Part 11. Grown-up

We're reaching the end of this series, mainly because I feel that I am starting to repeat myself. I just don't like repeating myself any more than I feel is necessary. Today, however, is not about that. Today, I want to take on the expectations and norms associated with how many times our Earth has wandered around the Sun since I was born.


Part 11. Grown-up

I was born in late 1985, which makes me 29 years old today. As I am approaching that magical threshold turning 30 seems to be, there are many things I am expected to do, to not do, and to feel. Things popping out of that automatically delivered box of Adult Female. I fit some of those descriptions, but there are also some that don't fit me at all.

I am 173 cm tall (5'8" for those not metric) and I haven't seen any scales in almost two years. I know that dieting and worrying about your weight, your looks, fashion, and feeling like you're not good enough is part of being an adult female, but I just don't care anymore. I am STILL in perfect physical health according to my doctor (who keeps insisting that it's weird. Thanks, doc. *eyeroll*) For more info on Body Positivism, check out this amazing woman.

I am 29 years old and I still sleep with a plush toy or two in my bed. Usually it's a toy racoon I got when I was six months old and a rat Boy gave me about five years ago. Even owning plush toys if you're older than 25 gets you judgement and condescending glances, or so I've noticed. Do I actually care about it? Not really, it's just not something I broadcast. There are only two people who are supposed to be in my bedroom, Boy and I, and neither of us is bothered by it. Boy sometimes complains that Rattington is invading his space, but that's it. We're both just happy that having a plush racoon helps me sleep easier (hi there, mental issues.)

I pay my bills, my rent, and other costs on time. I have student debts, but no other debts, loans, and no credit issues. I live on welfare mostly because my depression and social anxiety prevents me from working full time, and part time salary just doesn't cover all the bills.

My jeans are patched, my newest shirt is from last summer, and it was free because I volunteered at a music festival. Looking at Standard Living whatchamacallits, clothes are supposed to be included in Basic Living Standards for all adults in Sweden. It has not been a standard for me in almost five years. It doesn't bother me. I know my way around a sewing machine and I know what I look good in. So what if my jeans are patched and my hooded jumper is almost ten years old?

I still dress in black, listen to weird songs, and act like a loon when I'm out with friends. Ever seen Institution of Silly Walks? Yupp, exactly like that.

My sister is having a crisis of sorts when it comes to her age. She will be 28 years old this year and she's freaking out over the big 3 0. I, who will be 30 in late November, just don't give a hoot. Age is a number, nothing more.

My biological clock was crushed next to my old alarm clock. The box labeled The Good Wife has been used as a plant pot. The electronic scales I used to own are hopefully something actually useful by now and if you want to make a big deal out of me turning 30, it better be with Schwarzwald Torte and Campo Viejo.

DFTBA