Ch-ch-ch-Changes

I realized this week that I am in danger of becoming insufferable. I'm calmly doing the backstroke through a big lake full of Things I Swore I Would Never Do. And I'm slowly but surely settling into the reality that I am taking on characteristics that used to make me roll  my eyes if I encountered them in other people.
I'll never organize my closet by color or clothing type. That's so OCD. So high-maintenance.

I'll never be one of those people who claims they "don't miss TV". That's crazy. I love TV.

There's no way I will ever look at my reflection and think a positive thought.

I will always be a slave to the scale and the size tag of my dresses.

I will never stop dying my hair.

I will never "let myself go". Fashion, makeup, hair, accessories. These things matter. A lot.

I'm going to be 34 next week. Now that I'm officially on the cusp of my MID THIRTIES, I guess it's normal to discover that I'm not the same girl I was even a couple of years ago. I wish I could jump back a few years and yell at my mid-20s self and convince me not to invest so much emotional energy in hating the way that I look. I wish I could tell myself that there is absolutely no way that products or clothes are going to inch me closer to Happy.  And I can honestly say that I wish I had ditched TV years ago. Oh, and I would slap a tight hair tie around my wrist and SNAP myself every time I had a judgey thought about organized people, neatniks, non-runners, crunchygranolas who drink their coffee out of jars, or people who obviously don't spend an hour preening every morning. Because guess what? I'm all of those things now. And I'm happier than I've ever been.

Weird.

So have some grace with me if I tell you that I actually get stressed out watching TV these days (on hulu or Netflix) because the soapy drama is just too much for me. I know that sounds jerky, but it's true now. And when you come over for dinner and I pour wine into an antique beveled jam jar and expect you to use it instead of a wine glass because I didn't want to buy more when mine all broke in the move, forgive me. I'm not trying to be a greensnob. I think they look pretty, and Lord knows we don't need any more stuff in our cabinets. And if you've known me for a long time and hear me confess, in a strangely apologetic tone, that I actually like my hair, have made piece with my squishy tush (jiggly white-girl booty to those who know the story), just remind me to praise God. All things are possible with Him. Even that.

34? Bring it.