This is 25

21 Jul

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Friday night I stayed in my coverup-turned-nightgown, ate a bag of parmesan vegetables, and read a book that always makes me cry.

Saturday night I put on my highest heels, went to a hippity hip bar in Scottsdale, and celebrated the birthday of someone I’d never met.

Welcome to 25, my age of dichotomies and tentative plans and parties for people I’ll never see again.

Some weeks it is lonely and chaotic and overwhelming.

Last week it was bacon-wrapped hot dogs.

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