The annual cry. Hot girls cry on their birthdays, right?

Am I hotter or less hot than last year? Oh god, have I even done anything? Wasn’t I supposed to travel the world by now? Have ten thousand pounds in savings? Should I have bought into bitcoin? Why didn’t I invent Chat GPT?

I am not sure on the science behind it, but it is a fact. Hot girls do cry on their birthdays. Even when surrounded by love, they are overwhelming. Or underwhelming. Or both. It’s inevitable. 

Is this the time to worry about skin elasticity? Do I need to start preventative botox now? How do I ensure I look like Kim by forty five? I think this is the year I will start taking collagen. 

I don’t think it’s good to live on a timeline. Where you constantly think you’re running out of time. But how is that possible, when everyone else seems to be doing so much more than you. Or is that just the curse of social media? Or the curse of my brain? 

It’s so easy for me to look over the past year in a negative light. To assume I haven’t achieved anything, and everything has stayed the same. which 1 would be false, and 2 isn’t consistency key?

I am happy. surrounded by the same group of wonderful friends. My boyfriend is great, greater (and hotter) than last year. Everyone is alive. Which seems weird to say, but life is precious.

Ironically, nothing really has stayed the same. The foundations have, sure. But there is so much more to life. I have begun to understand the beauty in the small things. And Florence, I always think about Florence. I have grown in many ways I wouldn’t have thought possible a few years ago, and that I am grateful for.

Cheers to twenty six. To hopefully, the best yet. I may even re live my club-rat years from when I was in my late teens, as thankfully I still have those best friends too.