Today I became 28. In my head, that was always supposed to be some magical age where I’d be a proper grown-up with a proper woman’s body. I’d know what I was doing, I’d have control and I’d be happy. That’s what I used to tell myself. Now, I’m 28 and in a lot of ways, I have grown into that woman who is comfortable and confident in herself… but in other ways, I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t have everything figured out. Having contemplated this however, I don’t see it as a bad thing. As a kick in the ass? Maybe, but I could be in a far worse situation than I’m in right now. Especially as, the last few weeks, I’ve finally moved over the emotional block in my novel, and realised who needs to die (also in the novel). So, onwards, shall we?