I'm twenty-seven years old. Technically, late twenties. I get paid by the hour and live with my parents. I own shelves and shelves of books; I can't seem to get myself to stop buying them. I've lived in a different country, been to ten different ones. I drink coffee every morning and eat chocolate every day. I like the way I feel after a workout. Sometimes I like it when it rains or when it snows, but I like it when the sun is out and pierces through the trees also. I love my cat even though he makes me itch and I love babies even though they cry. I like driving around in my Jeep even though I hate traffic, and I like the mornings even though I don't like my alarm clock.
I watch hours of design shows because I have a not-so-secret wish to do it myself. I have more t-shirts than I have room in my drawer so they don't all ever make it to the drawer. I don't look people in the eyes and talk to them until I know them. I go around in circles because I can't make up my mind. I routinely make lists of things because of how much I enjoy crossing them off.
I'm excited for the future and terrified of the future. I'm coming into this year with so much to be thankful for and more confidence than I remember having in some time. I think I feel like...a grown up. Oh dear.