I loved Fridays.
They signaled the end of the week, be it hectic, productive or easy going for some, but mostly they meant being off business and off work routines for me. As a secretary of a media house in New York, doing some shit tasks for people from Monday all the way to Friday and damn sometimes to the weekend was not always fun. Truth is said.
But this Friday the 24th, 2015 was particularly different. It was my birthday and I turned 25 years old. I was happy with a new year added on to my dear life by the maker of all, but I could not deny the sizzling fear I felt of growing up. I know that sounds cliche, I was already an adult but as the numbers added on to my already given age, there was no escape from the thoughts of feeling like you had been a disappointment at that age. I did not own my own house yet, not even a car. I did not even own a coffee shop town street to show for. Take away my monthly salary and I would be broke as fuck at age 25.
The fear, the thoughts were overwhelming as I felt life was just moving too fast. I wasn't sure how else to deal with the emotions all kicking in. I had to cry at some point! So I headed downtown to grab a beer, maybe a nice-looking man to take home.
I had had a boyfriend that year, who had clocked a year of being in each other's lives as romantic partners. My boyfriend, Mark, couldn't even make time to spend my birthday evening with me. How sad was that! For him, it was always work and some more work. So I did what I normally did to escape reality, expectations, and frustrating work on a nice-looking man in his bed.
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