Tea and Cakes

I’m 27.
I’m not sure I’m happy being 27.
I liked being 26. It was clearly mid-twenties, a little more mature than 25, but close enough to it to not feel old. I don’t feel old, I know 27 isn’t old, but I’m now aware of the ageing process, put it that way.
I think I’d always set myself rough aims of where I wanted to be when I was 28, and although I think setting stuff like that is stupid and it’s not something I live by or worry about, maybe that’s what’s got me worried.
Maybe my biological clock has just started ticking.
Hell.