Well, some more time has passed and I find myself looking backward at my thirty-fifth birthday. That’s right, I have somehow managed to stumble my way into middle age and here I am still wondering why people treat me like an adult. And wondering when they’re going to realize that I’m not one. . .
Turning 35 isn’t as bad as one might expect, though. I’ve been working my tail off on my own local blog and on the other local blog sites and it feels amazing to be doing something that I love this much. It’s a great feeling. I’m working with smart, interesting women who are developing their own sites, I’m getting to share all the stuff I’ve learned about blogging and social media over the years, and, and well, it’s good. It’s good, good, good and I am glad to be doing it.
So apparently the key to getting older is being happy with who you are. Or something like that. These are deep thoughts for a Monday.
The problem with 35 is that as if by magic, I am now acutely aware of how generally un-fit and not-healthy I am. I’ve been conveniently avoiding this for ages now–being pregnant really helps with that–but here it is. Unhealthy. My diet is crap and consists largely of chicken nuggets, I’m practically mainlining Diet Coke, and I don’t eat nearly enough vegetables. And really, I could probably ignore all of this, but I’m tired a lot too and it’s hard to keep up with the kids and that seems like a really good reason to get my butt in gear. I also have some very mild arthritis that seems to have settled into my elbows and I’d like to get that looked at as well. I need a tune up, apparently.
So there it is. Thirty-five and doin’ alright. That’s doesn’t rhyme, but you get the idea.
Til next time.