It was my birthday on Wednesday (bon anniversaire, Condom; ouioui) and so I celebrated leaving my teens in the most teenage way possible. It involved drinking vodka in a park at midday; drinking a bottle of cider in a pub; passing out for two and a half hours, in the middle of the afternoon, in the toilets of that pub. I'm pretty sure that if I could remember it, it'd be one I'd never forget- pure celebration. I had a right melt-down last year, over turning nineteen. I'm not really sure why exactly, but I think it was part the fact that I'm not a huge fan of odd numbers and part... I really don't know. I like twenty though, twenty sounds nice.
Well, I thought I liked the concept of twenty. Then I was playing with my cousin Harry last week, who mentioned something about, 'when I'm sixteen...' which got me thinking and I suddenly realised that when he's sixteen, I'll be thirty. That's semi-hideous. So I started writing my list of 'thirty things to do before thirty' but I only got 18, and that doesn't have a nice ring. That's the problem with having little cousins. Like, they're cute and everything but when they get to a nice age you get, well... old. Not that sixteen is an especially nice age, but you get me.
The other problem with turning twenty, which, now I think about it, isn't actually a problem with turning twenty, per se; is that I got so drunk that I was so drunk and so really shittingly ill (which is more down to the cider itself than a hangover, if you get me. If I'd got that drunk on anything but cider, I wouldn't have got so sick). Ohhh, I've just read back that sentence and although it makes no sense, I'm going to leave it in because it seems appropriately nonsensical.
Anyway, being that drunk completely mucked up my recent eating pattern, which has actually been really good. I've been eating... enough. More than enough to fuction and I haven't really been doing much at all that's equal to the usual FUCK YOU I give my body. I've been exercising a bit obsessively, but I'm so lazy that my obsessive exercising means maybe about a three hour walk a day, nothing high impact. It's been odd, actually. Lovely, but odd. It's new to me- it's what I was saying before, it feels very unsteady, precarious, and I feel very fragile, but still- the healthiest I've eaten and, really, the healthiest I've been (outside of hospital) for years. Yesterday especially was ridiculous though, it was like my eating used to be and it scared me, because I can't do that anymore. Physically or mentally- my body has been too ill from the effects these last few months. And I want too much, I want to be able to do too much and be out there, doing beautiful things, and so I don't have time for an eating disorder. Or the inclination to let it keep up. I woke up this morning feeling oddly calm because I knew straight away that I was strong enough to fight it, I wasn't going to have another bad day.
So all in all, not a bad start to twenty.