I'm the center of attention...in the walls inside my head.

So being alone with myself always seems to be dangerous. It's then I realize how it feels to be a schizophrenic with voices in my head.

There are moments of day dreaming; you know the one where you are staring in a Broadway musical one night and you walk to the red carpet on the arm of a Hollywood director the next.

Then sets in the wishing (this typically involves coveting). You wish you had a car like all the Brentwood kids you teach, or you wish you had the hair of the blonde bombshell that just walked in the coffee house, or those legs on Lea Michele in that gorgeous dress at the Grammys.

Here comes the all too perfect planning. You have a YMCA membership that you haven't used in months...you are going to start going everyday rotating sculpting class and aerobics to get that body. If you scrimp on groceries for a while you can loose some weight and save up money for highlights at that salon you love.

But then the disgust sets in as you realize you have a little to no chance of making it happen. You're five foot one with thunder thighs; you'll never have those legs. You can't have long blonde hair cause you got crazy and decided to chop it off before Christmas. And although you work in Brentwood, you make a crap salary and the dented mom car is just going to have to do.

I don't know how much of this is truth and how much is lies, but the disgust is what sticks. The dreams and plans come and go so quickly, but the disgust last for days.

Not until much later does the fog of disgust rise. When I'm seeing a little more clearly, I remember these things don't matter. THEY DON'T MATTER. Your best friends will remind you of this. But once I'm alone with myself to too long...here I go down the rabbit hole again.

25, veinticinco, quarter of a century

Twenty five, veinticinco, quarter of a century...whatever you want to call it, I'm turning 25, and I'm not enthused. Not too sure why, but I most certainly am not. I've been shuffling through the possibilities of why it might be.

1. I promised Brent that if neither one of us were married by 25 then we would marry each other. Being that he was never a favorable prospect, this is not a good thing. And I'm pretty sure I meant by the end of my 25th year...so there is still hope!

2. I'm back in school. I never planed to be life long student and 3 years ago I thought I was done. But I love where school is taking me; I'm going to teach, there's no doubt about that.

3. My butt is freaking huge thanks to too much Pepsi and the Drawdy's big bottom gene! This is just unacceptable but fixable.

Really I think it is the fact that I'm one year older but not one year closer to anything other than death. I'm working through it, and once the celebration is over at 11:59 tomorrow I will accept the fate of 25. Who knows, I could be dreading a year of wonderful wishes and dreams fulfilled. Thank goodness I don't hold tomorrow in my hands.