Fretting about bad things that could or have not yet happened is not the wisest use of your time. It stops you sleeping, gives you spots, makes you eat more and even stops orgasms. Get insurance, a pension scheme and a Will. Try some of that Saving-up malarkey. Google potential employers or love interests. Don’t walk around barefoot in a carpentry workshop. Don’t chop onions with a blindfold. (Do watch THIS). Do call your mother. And the big 3-0 is not an entity you should give a toss about in your 20s.
Then it hits. This wet turdpat flung into your Partytastic Chi like a Dyson Airblade of shitspray aimed at your face. The Shizzle for your nizzle. (Going to add more brands and Snoopisms to my pieces as it makes them come up in amusing search engine queries: “Hangover Cure Cheese Banana” “Taylor Swift Yeti Harpoon Gun” “Justin Bieber makes Guacamole for Rihanna”).
Right. Grown up speak. I’m not the first to do turn 30, and seem to share this predicament with a few buddies this year. 3 months in, please find below a statistical ‘summary’ of what’s been taking up my entire life so far, according to an iphone calculator and the Madeleine-Butcher-Law-of-Averages.
(And thoughts like “What about Leap Years?” or “not every month has 30 days”, are appropriate to you, these are approximations. I hate you).
30 years = 10,950 days. 262,800 hours.
If I slept 7.5 hours a day until 23, then an average 6.5 hours a day from then until now, I will have slept 79,570 hours:
30.2% of life asleep.
I give an average 3 hugs a day, for roughly 3 seconds each. Cumulatively I’ve been:
Hugging for 22 days.
I spend 8 minutes every day nomming on a packet of Monstermunch, and usually at least a full hour eating actual stuff divided across the rest of the day, normally paired with other activities. That’s 517 days ingesting the good produce of this planet:
17 months Eating.
No idea how much that would weigh, but probably at least as much as 2 5-bedroom houses in Solihull. Accordingly, if I spend approximately 11 minutes on the toilet each day, (being realistic) that’s a grand total of:
83.65 days on the Throne.
Often on the phone. Often reading. I won’t guess at the weight of the outcome. Actually I will – I think I’ve shat at least a Semi Detached in Milton Keynes.
If I spend at least 25 minutes of every day laughing, (which is realistic) that’s:
190 days Laughing.
No sleep. Just happy diaphram exercise. Good times.
Now factoring in public/bar toilets, supermarket check outs, Dubai Airport’s Passport desks, standing at the bar, the post office, Banks, taxi ranks etc… realistically:
418 days standing in Queues.
Now this one was a bastard: how long on my way somewhere, including the daily commute to school and then work, and every trip across the UK, on planes while living abroad… (This doesn’t even factor waiting times and took about an hour to work out).
106.09 days sitting on Transport.
Let’s cheer it up a bit:
(thinking about how lovely an acquaintance is, how happy I’d make them and what they’d look like with less clothes on etc). …roughly 1 hour of every day, including weekends…
…174.75 days having Crushes.
907 hours Frightening Strangers…
…at weekends, with an inebriated verbal Maddy-Barage when all they wanted to do was drink and dance with people they actually know.
At least 162 days listening to Boring People…
…without hurting their feelings (Non-Work related). This does not include having to read their statuses/comments on Facebook.
950 days reading ‘Stuffs’ (books/web or newspapers).
27 days watching films with Bill Murray in.
4 months working in two thankless jobs, getting out before either could do any permanent damage. (This was written at the last one)