Warning


Today’s post is by a fellow blogger – Rosy.  I still remember going over the same questions a few years back.  Rosy blogs here.  And if your preferred method of communication involves tweeting you can find her @rosybee1.

For now, sit back, relax and enjoy.

My name is Rosy. I am 26 years old, and I think I’m having a quarter-life crisis.

It all started four years ago. I had just graduated (bottom of the class) and had been with my boyfriend (let’s call him Mr X) for just over a year. Having just about survived four years of study, I was looking forward to spending some time discovering the world and finding out who I am outside of education, so I headed down south to a tiny village in north Wales to visit my parents.

I don’t go home very often, so I was looking forward to a nice relaxing week of mum’s cooking and someone else doing my laundry. When I arrived, my mum took me into our nearest town – she had something she wanted to show me.

I rarely ask for anything from my parents, so I got very excited about what this something might be – A car? (no, too expensive) A pet? (my mum has a habit of adopting random rejected animals. But it wasn’t that) Some clothes maybe? (no, I have too many already). As we walked past all the normal shops and headed towards charity shop alley, I started to panic. Is my mother developing early stage dementia? Why is she dragging me to a charity shop?!

We stopped outside one – the Salvation Army I think – and my mum looked at me with a huge grin on her face.  Pointing at the window, she exclaimed “look! It’s only £15. Shall I buy it for you??”

As I stared at the window, a mixture of fear and confusion swept over me.  Surely she’s pointing at something else?? Maybe I’m missing something amazing; a once in a lifetime opportunity to own that signed Boyzone CD I always wanted, or a first edition Harry Potter book.

But no.  Slowly, the realisation started to dawn on me.  My mother was pointing at a travel cot.  A second hand one at that.

When I finally managed to scrape my chin off the ground, I heard myself utter: “But… Why?”

Without missing a beat, she responded “…well, just in case”. (She’d obviously thought this scenario through).

Uuuuhhhh… What?

“You never know what might happen now”

NOW WHAT?! Now I’ve graduated?  Now I’ve left home (4 years previously)?  Now I have a boyfriend (who I’ve been with for more than 3 weeks)?  Now I’m unemployed living on my own in a flat I can’t afford?

I still haven’t worked out what she meant.  Needless to say, we didn’t buy the travel cot.

Ever since that moment, I’ve noticed my world changing around me. People who previously swore they didn’t need a man have found their ‘soulmate’.  People who were never going to get married are now engaged and busy planning their future as half of a couple.  People who hated children now have two or three of their own. People who just about scraped through their GCSEs are now in highly paid careers with actual life goals.

I have none of that. What’s wrong with me?!

At 26, I don’t feel qualified to even count as a real adult, let alone a married one with responsibility for raising one! I have no idea what I want to have for dinner let alone for the rest of my life. I haven’t discovered the world (apparently doing it via the internet is not the same). And I’m only just starting to work out who I am.

I think the best way to deal with this is the way I deal with spinach, wasps and the washing up. Ignore it and hope it goes away.

But just incase it doesn’t go away, I’m going to start wearing purple. And maybe a red had and satin shoes. Jenny Joseph’s poem “Warning” will be the model for my life. This is definitely a good plan…

Advertisements

Your turn to have a say...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s