The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Those are the first few lines in this poem by Robert Browning. I loved the power in the first line. Grow old along with me! I've thought of what it would be like to grow old. The first thing I think of is, "What will I look like?" Personally, I hope I'll look like one of those cute little ladies that I see on the streets and I go "aww, how cute!" at. I don't want to grow old with just one person, though--just a lover, if such a person should come along. That sounds lonely, yes? I want a network of friends to grow old with as well, a network of friends to lean on when times are rough and to laugh with in the good times.
But it certainly is better to have friends all through life, yes? I thought so.
Mum and Dad's twenty-second wedding anniversary is tomorrow. They went out to eat today to celebrate and invited Jeffrey and me along. I took them up on their offer. I just realized that Mum got married when she was twenty--just a year older than I am now. Obviously I don't plan on marrying next year, but these sorts of things run in families, yes? Then again, isn't the average bridal age rising? I was always the person people imagined living alone with her books and her computer--maybe with a cat, if we liked each other.
Ignore this. I think it's an early bed for me. Maybe I'll make more sense tomorrow.