Reality? No Check...

When I was 10, I wrote a letter to myself, to be read when I turned 21. I figured, according to my calculations, that I would be just graduating college (that mythical place that I always dreamed about) and my life as a real person would begin. I wrote it, thinking that I would never forget about it. But I did and 21 came and went, with out me reading this very important letter addressed to “Ms. Grown-up Girl.”
But shortly before my 23rd birthday, I stumbled across it in a stack of old report cards and other forgotten papers. I read it. And it sent me into a tizzy. At 10, when I pictured my 20s, I saw myself married, with children, and a job that I loved. I even included pictures cut from my American Girl Magazine and Teen Beat of the things that I would have in my life. What my husband would look like, what my kids would look like.
What a dreamer.
Clearly, at 10, 21 is a lot older than it actually is. However, reading the thoughts of my 10 year old self with 23 year old eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder how I ended up here, so far away from who I wanted to be. No boyfriend, no dream job, and definitely no kids. It seemed like I had moved home after graduation and put my life on pause for a while, although I guess time never got the memo.
And so, I took action. Since turning 23 two months ago, I’ve:
applied to graduate school
quit my job
been unable to start said graduate school
relocated 3 hours away from my family anyway
continued to job hunt in this craptastic economy
gone on more bad first dates than I ever thought possible.

…in that order.

Not to mention that I:
haven’t had a real relationship since high school
am unqualified for any job that a really want
and have come to accept that I am not the heinous creature i’ve always seen when i looked in the mirror, but still hate my boxy pot-bellied curveless body anyway

oh, and the clincher? at 23, I have yet to lose my virginity. a real sore spot in my side. Probably one of the things that bothers me most in life.

This has to change. I need to hit the play button back on my life. These are supposed to be some of the best years of my life, and I am squandering them away while I wait for life to sweep me up.

And thus has begun what I have dubbed my pre-quarterlife crisis.