I’m now in my last year of being in my ‘late 20s’. Only a year left before I hit the big THREE-ZIP. That’s a scary thought.
When I was younger, early 20s I think, I had lofty ambitions of doing quite a bit before I hit 30. With
364 363 days on the countdown, it looks like I’ve some way to go to meet my own expectations.
‘You are your own worst critic’, they say. They’re right, you know.
I’ve still got a wagon load of work to do, a niggling cough, taxes to file, and the
sun’s blazing night air feels muggy, but at least I’ve still got a job where there’s never a dull day (and never enough pay), my family (that can tolerate me), my friends (who pretend like they can tolerate me) & my cat (who doesn’t have a choice). I think I’m doing alright. 🙂
P.S. This post has been simmering over a slow fire over two days, hence the messy