Money always seems to run low at the end of the month, right?
Earlier this month I turned 25 and since then friends, family and colleagues seem hell-bent on reminding me that I'm well and truly an adult. If they aren't asking me how it feels to be a "quarter of a century old" they're reminding me that I'm "halfway to 50".
The midlife crisis is a well-known phenomenon; you may even know somebody that's fallen prey to it and has suddenly developed a large collection of Hawaiian shirts, leather trousers or rock'n'roll compilation CD's. What's not so widely publicised though, is its preliminary attack; a smaller, but equally life changing milestone on the landscape of adulthood, the quarter life crisis.
Now I've got a one year old, and I don't look upon my mates who don't have kids as unlucky or lucky - I see them, if I can keep my eyes open, as mates who I dearly love. What I used to regard as an obsession with one's children I now know as the act of freaking out that someone as inept as you is in charge of a small things's life and safety. As worrying about being judged by other parents for a whole tiresome rainbow of reasons.
In the last year of my twenties, the recession hit at the same time as I took a marketing position in the financial services sector. It made me realise that living in financial airy fairy land is not conducive to a healthy, happy life. My thirties have been spent trying to undo the damage I did the decade before.
Last week a Tory council candidate disparagingly referred to Ed Miliband as 'the Jew', a UKIP MP referred to gay people as A** bandits and the prospect of Boris Johnson running the country was actually being seriously discussed. This week is election week and it is fair to say my loss of faith in the political system is at its highest.
There's a fair few things that might change for you in these years; here are just a few... You'll probably still get too drunk, not keep track of your periods and accidentally laugh loudly in awkward social situations.
Like most people, I'd say my early twenties were fine in a shit way. Or shit in a fine way. Whatever (my word du jour back then). I didn't mind the lack of money and employment because I was just out of uni. So cavalier, man. But now I'm in my mid-twenties...
Thought I'd share on something in the hope that I'm not the only one to feel like it. I can already hear my older friends grown at the title of this blog. I'll probably get a few "wait until you hit 40/50" comments. And rightly so I guess.
I've been 25 for one month and one day and already I am quite sure it is the worst age ever. Don't believe me? Take a look at these 25 highly valid reasons why. Yup, that's one for every sorry year of your life...