This is so true.

So I figure I’m probably going to kill myself when I turn 25. Or maybe even 21, let’s be honest here. Why? Because, well, I turned eighteen and suddenly my life got fucking awesome. I loved being fucking eighteen. I’m nineteen now and I already want to crawl into a hole and scream about believing in fairies, and I know I have too much dignity to still be wasted on Wednesdays at 35, so I may as well savour these moments now. Before, you know, I have to slit my wrists.

It doesn’t matter if you get dumped. Honestly, we bitch and whine about relationships so much, but when it actually comes down to it all, hardly anyone marries their high school sweetheart, and your early twenties are for experimenting anyway, so a couple of breakups really aren’t going to make much difference in the long run. We’re still beautiful, we still have a sense of reckless abandon, we’re probably the most likeable we’re ever going to be so I think we should just shut up, get over it, move on and go dance! The amount of times I’ve had things end in the past few years, I can’t even count any more… And with every new experience, I learnt so much more about myself. You’ll be fine.

You’re allowed to listen to horrible music. Once you grow up a bit, it’s kind of ridiculous to listen to Simple Plan in the shower, but right now we’re at the stage where it’s so close to ironic, it’s acceptable. No-one’s going to come over and judge you for your record collection (see: hard drive) and you’re not expected to play Bach at dinner parties… More like Wiz Khalifa as you and your friends down Jack Daniels in your kitchen. Savour horrible music. If you’re the kind of snob who’s already grown out of terrible music… I pity you.

You’re also allowed to actually appreciate and get riled up about bloody fantastic music. Dancing around your room screaming the words to ‘Something Better Change’ by the Stranglers is awesome when you’re fifteen, more awesome when you’re nineteen, appropriate at twenty-five but after that it just starts to get a bit creepy and odd. Embrace being able to go to gigs and sing your heart out, dance your ass off and yeah, maybe even cry a little during your favourite song; it’s not a cliche quite yet.

“Another shot? Sure, why not?!” Fuck it. Seriously, please start saying yes to more things, because when you’re bloody thirty it’s actually going to matter if you can’t get up on Monday morning.

This is probably the prettiest you will ever be. I am NOT a believer in ‘ageing gracefully’ or that a face full of lines is the best kind of face - certainly, it’s all well and good to have a body that tells a story, and I personally don’t care that my tattoos will sag and fade… But isn’t it lovely to have a tight ass, shiny hair and that special sparkle that draws people to you when you’re out at night? Look, I’m sure you’re going to be beautiful in ten years as well; but you’re more beautiful now, so please realise this and lap it up, revel in your aesthetic privilege and always, always smile in pictures!

(Source: iloveyoulessthanpunk, via orchideous)