I know what you’re thinking and it actually wasn’t from sex, sicko! And I say that with confidence because I haven’t had sex in a [redacted amount of time]. JK I share everything here! It’s been like four months… OK? Are you happy now that you forced me, by literally holding a knife up to my throat, to share that? Because I, for one, am actually very happy about that. It was hot! Danger! Hubba!
Per the urgent care doctor that I paid $300 out of pocket to see and give me antibiotics, my UTI is likely from that day where I did a 30 minute Cody Rigsby Peloton pop ride before work and then did not change out of my workout clothes until 1pm that day. I blame Cody and his unchartable charisma.
If you are wondering why I don’t have health insurance it is because I was recently laid off via Zoom call while wearing my Ponyo sweatshirt (chic) and I am waiting for my new health insurance to kick in :-)
So what, I turned twenty-eight and I got a UTI. Sort of a cool way to kick off this new chapter, no? UTIs hurt and they suck (I’m actually the first person to think this and also the first person to say this). Other than learning about UTIs, what is special about this birthday is that I’m hotter than ever before! It’s true, just look at this pic of me in a bikini (awooga):
Twenty-eight is sort of an unremarkable birthday. Or at least that’s how it felt. I might be feeling this way because I’ve been thinking so much about aging this year that when I was finally confronted with the day we are supposed to celebrate it, I was all, OK…James?
This birthday has launched me into some reflective thoughts (shocking). Specifically I’ve been thinking about where I was at when I was eighteen, which was ten years ago. Yes… I can do math… sometimes!
On my eighteenth birthday, I had just graduated high school and I was so so anxious. I lost like twenty pounds my senior year and everyone was like, you look great girl! And I was all, I’m so anxious I haven’t been able to eat a full meal since I started SAT prep one year ago! I did look smokin’ in my prom dress though. I was anxious because while I knew what I wanted to do with my life, I didn’t know which choice would get me to that goal. And the irony here? Honey, that’s currently the biggest anxiety I’m facing.
I ended up making the only logical choice a person could make. Follow my high school sweetheart to Boston. Because we, of course, were soulmates, even though he literally told me he wanted to break up before going to college. But like, WHO is to say what will happen if we are just across one tiny little river from each other, and you know what? WHO doesn’t love a stroll along the Charles. Call me Isabella Stewart Gardner and call my high school sweetheart her wealthy husband that let her buy all that art.
I followed my heart! Such a romantic. My high school boyfriend broke up with me the day before he left for Boston. I remember sobbing throughout the entirety of our last dinner together. I ordered scallops and I didn’t touch them once. The waiter kept asking if I was OK and I kept telling him, no, Peter, I am obviously not OK, my heart is breaking into one trillion pieces!!!!!
So we broke up and it was devastating. I went to orientation and I met my orientation leader. He was a very nice tall man named Swanson. I remember him cheerfully guiding us all through some lame icebreaker but he made it seem actually so cool. He talked about wanting to move to San Francisco and build his life there after graduation. He made me feel safe and comfortable and I knew I wanted to be his friend. Earnestly, I felt that in my bones. I successfully tricked him into becoming my friend two years later when I worked for him at our university’s community service center. He’s still one of my best friends and one of the greatest loves of my life. This experience (and the fact that I’m corny) is honestly why I believe in love at first sight, because even if it was platonic love at first sight, it was love.
I followed my high school sweetheart to Boston because I loved him, sure, but also because I felt so overwhelmed by the choices put in front of me and following him felt like the safest bet. If I fell flat on my face in Boston, I guess I could just call him, right?
I think that’s a bit of a habit I’ve had in my life for a while. Numb the uncertainty and risk by finding a ~lover~ to pin the choices to. My awareness of this (flex) has led me to pull back from dating in a big way lately. Although I am BUT A HUMAN WOMAN and I did go on a date a few weeks ago.
It was my first date in quite some time and I started sharing about all this choice angst I’d been having. Then… on a first date, not only did I quote Sylvia Plath… but I texted the excerpt to him after the date… LMAO. I am begging you to hear me out. This is what I texted him after our date:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
So what, I referenced “The Bell Jar” on a first date. GET A GRIP! I think it was charming. Is this why I’m still single? Brittney, FOCUS.
After sharing the quote with my date, I told him that this was how I felt about all the paths I could take in my life. He replied with something like, I get that but I don’t think any of your figs are dried up quite yet.
My figs aren’t dry and I’ve got quite a few I can still pick through. What’s weird about aging is that you can see all the choices you have ahead of you while also seeing all the choices you’ve already made, and with that, all the opportunities you’ve given up because of those choices. Sort of spooky.
I sat down with an old boss and a mentor of mine this past fall and she told me something like, kid, you need to figure out what you want to do with your life, because once you do you’ll kill it and I can’t wait to see you kill it.
Those words have echoed throughout my head the last few months. I want to be killing it… I want to slay, mama! Although, I would be remiss not to admit that I am enjoying the slow burn of the journey to get there.
This blog reminds me of the Harry Potter fan fiction you wrote our friends in Middle School that was also ~excellent~ hahah
Want to get another UTI? (This time with me) I promise I won't wrinkle your fig.