The wrong leg

It's March! Already! In 3 months, I will be 27! I've never wanted to get younger, and I still don't, but for the very first time I'm reluctant for days to go by, because the faster they do, the faster I'll be 27. And the faster I'll be 27, the faster I'll be 30, which, while it is something I look forward to, also reminds me gloomily of how very likely it is that I'll have to invoke the back-up plan for my life. Well, it's a good plan, but it's a back up plan, so I don't really want to do it. Implicit in the back up plan is the belief that one will never have to use it, and implicit in using it is one's failure at the original plan.

I have always prided myself on never wanting to go back and redo things, even if they were horrid, because well, I quite like me and I wouldn't be me if things hadn't happened exactly the way they did. These days, however, I often feel like I want to go back to being six and do it all over again, and differently this time.

I feel like I'm in a different life, it's familiar but so wierd; and I should be somewhere else. Fellow Pratchettphiles will understand that I mean I am in the wrong leg of the Trousers of Time.