Les Montres Molles

11396.

11396 days have I crawled, stumbled, walked on this earth. How many of them can I actually remember in detail? Honestly? Not enough. When you're a kid days can't pass by fast enough, especially if there are exciting events like christmas, or your birthday, or a trip to the amusement park ahead. Nowadays too many of them fly by in a blur, you following the same repetitive rhythm day by day, falling in line, being a responsible adult, whatever that may be.

Do you ever really feel all grown up? In each and every possible definition? I can't say I do.

Sure, I get my life straight, I pay my bills, I actually stick to my yearly dental check although I despise going to the dentist, I know how to get my taxes done and I try to go to sleep at a more or less reasonable hour if there's an important appointment in the morning... but still. Growing up always has this connotation of being 'old'. I don't feel 'old'.
Thirty is not 'old', as much as forty or fifty aren't either.

My dad turned seventy in October and he kinda admitted it's the first time he feels not too comfortable about his age anymore as seventy isn't exactly that young. But then seventy is the new fifty I guess. If someone can pull that off it's him.
Let's face it, age is nothing but a number that determines your Zodiac sign and your future retirement date. Or the level of embarressment you feel looking at old photographs and the terribles clothes and haircuts you once sported.

Growing up was supposed to mean having a husband, a small town house with a garden to grow some vegetables, a dog, a horse, a bunch of kids. What a cliché. A lovely cliché. Small town suburbia is home, my home. My childhood. Climbing trees, digging earth caves, wading barefoot in the river. An infinite horizon of cyan above your head, a welcome seduction to daydreaming for hours.
Did I expect to be married with kids at 30? Or married at all? Maybe. But as it turns out, you can't always get what you want. Instead I got what I needed. Traveling. Europe. Asia. The States. Finding myself, my inner peace.

Invitations to three wedding ceremonies are piling up on my desk; August is gonna be one busy hell of a month this year. It's like a virus, spreading out until your entire circle of friends is infected, passing it on to other friends, relatives, co-workers. Dresses. Invitations. Cakes. A big fuzz, an endless competition to throw the best, the biggest, the most merorable party. And while most of my friends get nuts about what to wear I simply am looking forward to some damn good parties with the people I love, awesome food and some booze.

Bowie and 'Doolittle' by the Pixies have been on endless repeat the last few days, music my twentysomething year old friends either haven't heard of or consider 'old'. If those tunes qualify me as being 'old' I can't help but happily embrace it. I'm fine.

11396.

11396 and counting.