How Old Am I?

In September I turned 22. It’s starting to be about time that I “act my age”, but in all honesty, I’m never sure what that is exactly. Biologically or mentally? And if the later than by what set of actions are we measuring my mental age? My schedule? Financial stability? Hobbies and interests? Because I’m still not sure how to answer that question.

I have the imagination of a six year old, always wandering off and drifting to make-believe lands where I fight off pretend beasts and strange foes. Sometimes it’s just this world, but instead of being me I’m the size of a mouse and I’m sneaking around like in The Borrowers. Sometimes I run away to Hogwarts.

My taste in computer games hasn’t aged since I was about 11. My sister and I used to play Nancy Drew games together, but now she plays too quickly for me. When I try to catch up I play for hours, forgetting to eat and staying up until the wee hours.

I’ve been reading the same type of YA books since I was allowed to go to the YA section of the library at around 13. I love the new releases and can’t wait for the movie versions of The Fault in Our Stars and Divergent. I eat these books for breakfast, quickly devouring entire novels in a day. Nearly every night is stay-up-as-long-as-you-want-as-long-as-you’re-reading day (a sometimes tradition from my childhood).

Perhaps because of these late nights my reaction to my alarm clock has been the same since 16. “Oh please, no, just 10 more minutes.” Which inevitably turns to 30.

One thing that’s probably just about on par is my style (or possibly lack thereof). Half my wardrobe is nice clothes my parents bought me and the other half is full of random items from Target, Goodwill, and online deals that has the distinct possibility of falling apart sooner rather than later.

When I go to a party I’m in my mid-thirties. There are shots and dancing and staying up until 5am all around me. I drink wine and fall asleep on the couch at 1. My friends jokingly say that the party doesn’t start until I fall asleep on the couch. They’re right and they have the pictures to prove it. Parties are fun for a while, but they mess up my routine of waking up (30 minutes after my alarm) and getting things done. There are errands to run and schoolwork to be done, why should I mess with that routine?

A friend of mine tells me that my taste in television is in line with a middle aged woman. I can’t disagree. I watch CSI, The Mentalist, and The Good Wife, all of which I can discuss with my mom. In my deference I also watch Awkward and Adventure Time, but most of my favorites skew towards an older audience.

Similarly I never really did find my own taste in music. As a kid, my parents introduced me to Joe Jackson, Miles Davis, and Van Morrison. I’ve pretty much stuck with that. Other things in my music library include LOTS of showtunes and a smattering of worship music, but overall I would have more to talk about music-wise with a 52-year-old than I do with most 22-year-olds.

At night I am starting to go to bed earlier and earlier. Last week I started to fade out at 8:30. Most nights I make it to 10 or 10:30, but in a dream world I would probably go to bed at 9. I’m not sure exactly, but I think that’s around the time my grandma goes to bed, so I don’t know what that makes me.

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