Okay, so I KNOW 27 is the new 17. That knowledge, however, does not stop me from dreading the big 2-7. As a friend mentioned earlier today, I have a job that I love, people that I love who love me and my health. I should be happy to move forward. When did maturing become daunting? Wasn't it just yesterday I was longing for the day I wouldn't get carded at the liquor store? Why do I now find myself wishing I would?