So it's time to be self-indulgent. It's my birthday. Twenty-two. The thought always terrified me slightly, given the whole societal obsession with being twenty-one. However, I really don't care this year. It's not as though I look or feel any older (though I'm sure someone cheeky will disagree with me on this) and really I'm looking forward to this next year. Big things could happen. I mean, they may not, but for the first time in my life, I've actually become an optimist. Yep, university will be over, but who says it's cast in iron that the "best years of your life" have to end here? Hopefully the next year will be full of travel (hello spain/new york/anywhere else...), new experiences, new people (but still my old friends...) and maybe a job? Oh to be paid to write about travel... or music... (or nightlife... or fashion... or literature...) ...well maybe one day. But for now, I'm going to enjoy a day of narcissism and look forward to the wide, wide world that is opening up before me.
Post-script: Just watch me turn 23 in a rubbish office job, living at home, broke.