nobody starts a blog at 25 . . .

I'm pretty sure, by twenty-five you're suppose to be over your far-fetched fantasies that anyone really has any interest in reading about your daily, mostly mundane, thoughts. I mean, I no longer consider what my life soundtrack would be, or who they would cast to play me in my life movie. But, to be fair, I'm not exactly twenty-five just yet, I still have three weeks and two days - 552 hours before I must officially give up on all my childish notions.

However, I'm still pretty childish, even at 24.94 years old - well, childish in the same way that an eight-year-old kid who drinks too much coffee, smokes too many cigarettes and always manages to have one too many glasses of wine is childish because she still thinks fart jokes are funny, always manages to make contact between her shin and the coffee table and can never keep a blouse clean for more than a few hours at most. In those ways, yes, I suppose I'm still a bit childish. 

In other ways though, I'm very much an adult. I fold my laundry right after it comes out of the dryer, I cook for myself, I bathe myself, I have an incredibly adult-like boyfriend with whom I enjoy various adult like relations and, so far, I have managed to keep 1 dog, 2 cats and 2 plants from completely withering away while under my charge - oh, and sometimes sometimes I pay my bills. Not too shabby, eh?

But really, the point of this blog isn't so much for me to justify or vindicate the person that I am, but to grow into the person I would like to become (I know, terribly cheesy). Currently unemployed, barely squeezing into size eight jeans and certifiably broke is not the way I'd like to remain for the rest of my existence. So, lets pretend I'm a butterfly, er, caterpillar, squeezing into a cocoon (which ideally would fit less snuggly than these jeans) and hoping to emerge as a beautiful butterfly! 

(Maybe the use of corny analogies will disappear during this transformation as well).