I just about an hour, I will officially be 27.
Somehow, 27 seems much, much older than did 26—it’s that much closer to 30 (which, thanks to Lindsay, I am totally looking forward to!)—but it’s not really.
It’s been a bit of a crazy year: I went from doing well to a crazy flare and back again; I went from hating my job and actively looking for something else to getting promoted and turning down other opportunities; the mister and I celebrated three years of marriage; and I’m coming up on about 13 or so years with psoriasis and 7 years with psoriatic arthritis.
Today, though, I’m not thinking about any of that. I’m just enjoying time with the mister and my in-laws, getting a mani-pedi and some Starbucks (my relaxation fix of choice) and being grateful that I’m alive and in relatively good health.