This second trimester thing is easy. But, legend has it that, the 3rd and final trimester is the bastard to end bastards.
I’m looking fatigue, swelling, and general apathetic resignation in the face. A need will arise to get-this-over-with-already. Blimp-sized and irritable, 3 months of agonising torture await my already distended stomach.
And fat pants; lots and lots of fat pants.
If someone had told me a year ago, that I would find myself here, in this town, with child, married, in a different job, with a man I didn’t even know back then… let’s just say it would have been on the difficult side to convince me.
8 years ago, I had a very definite plan for my life:
I was going to be married by the time I hit 25, be a successful CA, get a house with 3 rooms and 2 bathrooms, 2 garages, the picket fence, the works. I was gonna be well off. Enough so to modify my house the way I wanted it, and to paint on weekends, and to wear fashionable clothes, etc.
Reality is a tad off base.
By the time I hit 24, I had modified my plan for myself.
I’m still not a CA, but I’m closer to it now than I ever have been. I was gonna get married at 28, kids at 30. The parasitic alien in my stomach changed all that very suddenly, but up until the beginning of this year, that was still the plan.
Something I’ve realised, however, is that – I am the person I always was. I didn’t become any more stylish, or fashionista with age. That whole scene has always evaded me. What I look like is what I look like, and I don’t really know how to put an outfit together, or shop for clothes.
The house market also threw me one hell of a curveball.
I’ve been living with my parents up until 2,5 weeks ago. (Now I live with my husband’s parents. No big change there) But, it is dam nigh impossible to procure a reasonable house in a reasonable area at a reasonable price. Also, I have no money. And my salary isn’t near enough to support the misconceptions I had about receiving a salary.
Over weekends, there is barely any time for anything. My paint lies accusingly in the corner, discarded. It has been an uphill battle for me to find canvas. Weekends are just too short these days. Weeks are short. Time is short.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
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4 comments:
Hang in there...
If someone told me that I'd still be studying the same old thing by the time I reached the wrong side of 25, I would never have believed them. Why is this taking so long? Will I never be an owner-occupier? Somedays I just want to be like everyone else, do the 9-to-5, pay the bills. But I guess I should count myself lucky that I do not have to. Just yet. Children change things though, don't they? The white picket fences are rapidly approaching.
"Fruit flies like a banana." You're funny!
thanks, m-j.
same here, hunter. didn't think id still be studying on the wrong side of 25. i'm getting a bit fed up with the subject matter tho - i keep failing, so i study the same stuff every year.
dis om van naar te word.
prophet, i endeavour to try. :) but, those are not my words, alas! i am but a copier.
is there art in knowing where to place the right words, to achieve a certain effect? (even if those words belong to someone else?)
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