Stuck between 19 and 32

In the past couple of months, I’ve been from 32 to 19, and back to 32. Well, actually to almost 33. Because I am, almost 33. Shit where has time gone? I know I know… Not again. No, I am not doing this again.

But this whole 19 year old self thing, I guess it sort of kicked off around November. To say what caused it, well that would be telling and as tempting as that is… That shit is just personal.
But the truth is, the pressures of being 32, with friends who are doing the things that 32 year olds do – you know, buying houses, walking dogs, having children, having braais around children’s nap times, passing said children from person to person… And not, no, definitely NOT, drinking tequila off the belt of a tequila shooter girl, I got a little bit tired and bored of it. Where had all the fun people gone? (Turns out they just grew up).
Some may call it escape. I just like to call it the silly season.

Ok, so I don’t want to rehash this whole thing again – but really, I don’t feel like I should be 32. Thirty-two is old. By the time my mother-in-law was my age, she had had all 5 kids.
I, on the other hand, was recently found dancing on a table at the Cape Town tens. And why shouldn’t I?

Look, I’m all for being respectable when respectable is called for. Like when you’re officially becoming a godmother in a Catholic Church (which did actually recently happen) – a dress to just above your knee is necessary. But the rest of the time? No harm in a bit of ‘hands in the air’ fun!

This year, something sparked a visit from my 19 year old self. I thought there had to be a reason, something I could explain and give value to or that should take the credit for the behaviour of the past 3 months. The tequila shots, the drunk tweets, messages, maybe even phone calls with declarations of love (they not only reserved for bathroom visits with your bestie that take 45 mins because you’re so busy saying how much she means to you!)
But turns out, there isn’t. Life is just a series of phases. You’re up, you’re down, you’re sometimes unnoticeably just cruising only to discover that you were cruising, when you’re suddenly not any more. It doesn’t all mean something and sometimes it doesn’t mean nothing. But seeking understanding all the time is painfully draining and also… Well, it just takes the place of the plain fun that could be had.

I may be 32… But if it’s still fun to dance on the table or around a pole, come home as the birds wake up, have tequila and take selfies (and even txt said selfies to unsuspecting, and often sleeping, individuals) – why shouldn’t I? It doesn’t need a reason.

So I stopped looking for a reason in everything. I’ve stopped justifying why, or for how long this 19 year old me is going to be visiting for. I’m almost pretty sure she’s always going to around. And I kinda like when she visits. It’s fun.

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