So here I am, last day of being 21.

twenty-one... two-one.

It feels funny tbh, 18 was a HUGE celebration for me, a big mile stone as it were. 19 flew by and before i knew it i was 21 (i skipped 20 because tbh, i cant remember much of what happened).

So tomorrow im 22.

twenty two... two-two... the Big Double Two.

That's eight years from 30. Only eight. See, it sounds like a long time, but think of it this way, 8 years ago i was in yr 8 (by cosmic coincidence), my second year of high school. That is what creeps me the fuck out that 8 years ago has suddenly turned from "oh, i was in junior school" to "oh, i was in high school"

Seriously, it creeps me out!

Anyway, i was thinking the other day about my family's heritage, or rather my dads military traditions. He was in the Territorial Army assigned to the EU task force. My grandad was an illegal ensign for the Royal Navy in WW2 (he was underage), and soon became a full serviceman (prospect promotion to the to boot). By all rights i should have joined the Air Force.

I would have done too, but my mum raised me as a sensitive empathatic type. I take action in the form of protest and (in some rare instances) activistation (is that even a word?). So there is something i see wrong in becoming trained to fly a hefty jet propelled weapons platform to blow people up. That doesnt get my cock hard, i'll be honest.

right, so tonight is the meet and drink with my mates to celebrate my further descent into the passage of time where portraits of events that have been and will be fly past. Sometimes too fast for you to be able to grab onto.

Super-lame :(