26

I hit 26 in 3 weeks. And I am moping. I'm disgusted with myself.

So I made mistakes. So I made some really stupid wrong choices. SO BLOODY WHAT.

I wasn't thinking. Bad things usually happen to me when I leave my brain at some door.

Still, I don't regret it. I refuse to. It was good while it lasted. I refuse to think anything else.

So I WILL stop continuing to act like a dumb bitch and go out. And party. And drink. And dirty dance like I used to. Haven't done that for 2 years. And check out cute guys. And kiss them and make out with them to glory. Glory glory hallelujah! Fuck it. Someone's bound to like the way I move and the way I kiss and the way I look. And how I think. And speak. And laugh. And smile. And taste. And smell. And feel.

I've been a very good girl for the most and better part of 25 years. I have 5 more years to go to live life before acting 'bad' starts looking irresponsible, which will probably happen when I hit 30. Very unbecoming for a 30 year-old to still act 16.

I will drag the bitch out. And I will have a good time. And go home totally sloshed, and knackered. And shower and scrub off the bitter, painful dregs of yesterdays and yesteryears. And sleep it off. And I will be fine.

After all, like Miss O'Hara says in Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind:
Tomorrow is yet another day.

Tomorrow holds promise. Tomorrow holds hope.

I turn 26 in 3 weeks. I will be happy at 26. And the devil fly with anyone who tries to make it otherwise.