PP ("pre-psychic") the world was wild. It was "menty b" after "menty b" especially when my family decided to drop the "as an adult you absolutely must have more than $100 in your savings account at all times" bomb. What's more, they said if you keep ignoring boys you could end up a spinster with nine cats – I don't think my Dad realises how much of a good time that sounds like.
I swear to god if I have to reply to one more, "I'll go on a date with you as long as you don't write a column about it" text, I will cease to exist.
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Point is, I was a lost gal, more lost than the time Carrie couldn't decide between two pairs of Manolo Blahnik's. Or maybe it was Big and Aidan? Anyway, since I am literally a broke writer and not a TV character, I didn't even bother torturing myself by looking at beautiful shoes. Instead did what any crystal-owning Gen Z would do and found someone with a spooky spiritual gift to ask what kind of vibe my future would hold.
When I tell you it was better than therapy for me, I'm not joking.
You not only get shivers down your spine every time they say something that resembles a picture from your Pinterest vision board, but you can shamelessly indulge in your narcissism by spending an hour talking about yourself. Your future self that is.
And then, if that's not the pot of gold under the rainbow it doesn't end with a disappointed "sis, what are you doing with your life" look but instead Ms Psychic might say "you're on the right track" which will be enough for you to embrace the chaos of life like me.
New year, just as messy you, sweetie.
Will your family be upset about it? Yes, of course. The last thing they want is you continuing to scull wine on a Saturday followed by hating everything except your cozy dressing gown on a Sunday, yet that is exactly the direction we are heading in.
But it's absolutely fine, especially if, like me, you're turning 25 this weekend and you're having one last 24-year-old, "How the f did I get here" moment.
Because darlings, turning 25? It's vulgar, it's not a cake I want a slice of. With the double-digit number comes people who suddenly assume you've got your life together - an unbelievably terrifying thought when in reality I can only cook three meals. One of which included two-minute noodles.
If you're in the same boat as me and need some self-assurance with a sneaky peek into the future I will never stop suggesting you spend time and money with a psychic and ignore the one person in your life who says they are "a con-artist".
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Because despite what I'm doing right now, you don't go to a psychic so you can brag to your friends about the mature, tall, dark and handsome boyfriend you're going to get this year, but you go to find out your life isn't going to be as bad as your Gen-Z anxiety is telling you it's going to be.
After you've come to terms with the fact that you won't walk in the same shoes as Carrie Bradshaw because you're not destined for fame nor a love triangle, the rest of the world seems not that scary at all.
So if you take anything away from this column, don't let it be the fact that The Dating Diaries may end soon because Ms Psychic said I'm getting a boyfriend, but instead let it be that any quarter-life crisis can be solved with a quick trip to a psychic.
