Ich muss es auf Englisch sagen, weil anders krieg ich’s nicht hin:
I am almost a week late with the annual birthday selfie, but what is time anyway, so here we go: 39.
If I told you I was forty this year, that wasn’t lying. It was optimistic forecasting because I enjoy being a middle-aged lady more than maths.
For the first time and the last time it was 2025. Ichi-go, ichi-e.
39 feels a bit like this: knowing less (and more), caring less (and more), laughing more (and some days not at all). Definitely more whimsy, definitely more softness, definitely less tolerance for bs.
I managed to lose almost all of my eyebrows, so now I draw them on like a tiny daily art project. Some days they look more like distant cousins rather than siblings. I quite like that. Mysterious bruises are also a thing now apparently. Fair enough, this aging like a banana.
What fruit might i be next?
[36 | 35 | 34 | 33 | 32 | 31 | 30 | 29 | 28 | 27 | 26 | 25 | 24]
