28 and counting. I hope.

Today -or possibly yesterday  depends on how long it take me to write this - was my 28th birthday. On my birthday eve, I could not sleep. All I could do was think. Think about what have I learned, where have I grown, where have I become stagnant, and where do I want to be. 

My thoughts ping pong from one subject to another and I am going to attempt to share them in an organized manner. I'm sure this post will start out organized but end up looking like all the drawers in my house - disheveled, messy, and random. But. That's me. 

I realize that it is no longer acceptable to say I am in my mid twenties. It probably was not acceptable last year either, but I clung to it like a crackhead with their last rock. So. Early late 20s but not 30 it is. 

I'm so afraid that when I turn 30 I'm going to wake up and have a short hair cut accompanied by a full face of bangs that is fluffed, teased, and quick-creted. Along with long butt jeans, aka mom jeans. I don't even wear jeans. - irrational. In my terror and fright I will run (haha. No. Not run. I don't do that. Maybe swiftly walk) to my garage and find my Murano has mutated to an old Chrysler or ford minivan in an awful shade of pale blue with a wood grain strip. Once again. Irrational. My house will be decorated in hunter green and red, with lace dollies and magnolia pictures gracing the wall in their golden brass frames. This is what I imagine getting older to look like. It's more frightening than Halloween movie trailers late at night. If you guys reading this, see this beginning to play out, help me. Take me to nearest fat girl store and put me in an all black outfit, throw glitter on me and hope I revert back to Julie. 

Have you heard the old saying that all you need is a "little hair of the dog" to cure a hang over? That person was either evil, an alcoholic, or stupid. That does not cure it. It creates a worse hangover the next day. The best way to cure a hangover is to not get one. If you slip up and find yourself googley eyed and having to throw one leg out the bed to stop the room from spinning - you better find a ton of water, 4 ibuprofen, and carbs. The older you get, the longer your recovery time. 

You will loose friends and your "circle" will get smaller. In return, your quality will get better. Your relationships will get so much more meaningful when you let the meaningless walk out. Bye Felicia. 

Everyone, who is capable, tells me their 30's were the best or are the best years of their life. - I hope you guys are telling the truth, unlike the "hair of the dog" genius. 

I know that years to come are going to be sweet because of my Harper Lee. However I worry about stupid things.

Like what if I wear mauve lipstick and fingernail polish. Ugh. No. Please no.

What if I stop caring and start walking around with my trunk open and all my junk showing or worse, looking like a busted can of biscuits in a t-shirt with bears and some corny saying on them. Something like I am beary good. No. No. I am beary dumb. 

Either way I still have 2 more years to turn the rest of my hair grey from useless worry. I'll cross the mom jean and big hair bridge when I get to it. 

In all honesty. I am thankful for another year and the past 28 years. I'm thankful for family and friends I love and adore. I'm thankful for health. I'm thankful for every blessing God has given me, my family and my friends. I especially thankful for the first birthday Harper told me Happy Birthday Momma with that sweet voice. 

Here's to 28, flat bangs, no jeans, all black, and glitter !