Sometimes

I sometimes don't realise just how lucky I am. The anniversary came and went - Daniel and I went for a lovely meal at Saran Rom, came back home and settled on the sofa to watch "Starter for 10" (very funny and moving movie). Whilst we were watching it, I kept thinking how I missed out on a lot of things back in those days - living in my university's halls of residence, the crazy parties that went on, the friendships that were forged (and broken) and just revelling in the sheer joy of crazily immature youth.

Then I gave myself a mental slap across the face.

I'm lucky enough to have gone to university and come out with some really great grades. Sure, I didn't go to as many parties as I wanted but I went to enough to know that, after a while, puking up in the guttering nearby moaning about the lack of a meaningful other is totally overrated. Whilst they were sleeping with random people and returned back to reality pricking their consciences about what they'd done/who they'd cheated on, I was sleeping with random people and getting to go back home to Daniel, without the obligatory guilt trips. Whilst some of them are undertaking Masters degrees to shy away from having to face real life as fully fledged adults, I've just landed myself another great job that pays (dare I say it) ridiculously well. My future isn't riddled with uncertainty and unanswerable questions. In my twenties, I have a great job, a great man (who lets me get away with murder!) and more-than-affordable mortgages on home and overseas properties, the values of which are increasing so well that I need do nothing but sit on my arse and watch the money roll in. I can do everything my contemporaries do and have a hell of a lot that they don't.

I sometimes don't realise just how lucky I am. Then again, sometimes, I do.

(Happy Anniversary, Daniel!)