Today we are 26, although since 25 has pretty steadily and consistently blown, I may call for a re-do. I have spent so much of the last year crying in cabs and in a humiliating heap in my hallway, and that's such a waste. Stupid boys.
Clearly I cannot be trusted to use feelings responsibly, so I am just not going to have them any more. I'm not allowed to feel anything but things that resemble drunk, detached, and ready for adventure for the foreseeable future. Feeling like this is an awesome plan falls completely within the rules. Also within the rules is feeling like going to Italy in April was a genius plan. It troubles me that there are so many other amazing places to visit because I sort of just want to go back there. And stay. And eat.
Of course, 25 wasn't all bad, and wasn't it Saroyan who told us that even though madness is the world's only constant, it doesn't preclude joy and laughter? I'd rather spend 26 doing mostly that part and less of the heartbreak and general angst. So that's the plan for the next round.
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