Oh Miss Diaryland, you are my private part-time mistress, let's skip the pleasantries and dive in the seedy earth of the reason we're both here; I've got some fertilizer but I need to till it with your peat moss.

While wine, cheese and Glenn Close will age well with time, all biological organisms have well expressed time limits. Lately, my milk has been curdling a bit more rapidly than I can recall and while the expiration date boldly lies to me its calcium does not protect my bones the way it used to.

This only means I am growing older, mentally I haven't been so pubescent in my actions for some years now. The weight of responsibility has dropped on my shoulders many times and I have shrugged it off but this, for now, feels like the right move.

Here's to growing up and cheers to those bearing a frown. If you thought that was lame or don't like reading such piss and vinegar analogies then why read anything on DiaryLand?

For those still with us after that brief intermission, grow the fuck up when you feel it is time not when you have social pressure to do so and hopefully your timing will be met with success.

Cheers,
Jonathan