My birthday is approaching. It’s soon. Like, next week too soon and just blah because I don’t want another birthday. Birthdays are silly. I think I’ll stay 23. I mean 24? Really? I’m not ready to be 24. At all. I haven’t graduated college yet (I blame the Army, the deployment, which are good excuses that still don’t make me feel any better about it), I haven’t done the million things I thought I would have done by 24 so no – I’m not turning 24. It’s not happening. Absolute denial will reign this year and maybe in a year or two I’ll be a little more prepared to embrace my 24th year, but this year, I’ll pass.
On the list of things that no one really needs to know about me, my husband laughs at me because I put deoderant under both my left and right arm with my right hand. He politely told me yesterday that I could switch hands in between arms and it might makes things easier.
I told him my left is stupid and fails at life. Which is true. Really, I’m just thankful it knows how to type, otherwise I would consider cutting it off due to it’s absolute uselessness. It can’t even hold a fork. Seriously.