It’s the end of my twenties as we know it, and I feel fiiiiiiine. (Thank you R.E.M. for giving us that infinitely adaptable line. And also for being older than me.) I turned 30 on Saturday. Seeing as I possess an insatiable and damn near compulsive tendency to crack a self-deprecating joke at any opportune moment (and many inopportune ones as well), I’ve zinged a lot of age-specific zingers these past few weeks. But really? I think I’m OK with it. The biggest difference seems to be that my eyes and ears have developed superpower-like ability to root out any reference to age written or spoken within a mile’s radius. Like, last night at Tracks, I specifically heard some kid two tables over say “I don’t want to know what I’ll look like when I’m 30″ and I wanted to be all like “Well, I’m 30, so I can promise you you’ll look pretty much the same as you look now…which is to say LIKE A GIANT DOUCHEBAG.”
…..
….OK, so maybe I’m not OK with it.
Yeah, yeah I am. It’s just this joke-cracking compulsion, ya see. Or maybe my joke cracking is really a way for my brain to deal with the suppressed negative emotion I’m subconsciously feeling. Or maybe I’m just milking the whole situation for attention. Or maybe I don’t know how I feel about it seriously so I delay having to make a decision on how I feel about it by making jokes about it. Or maybe I need to shut up. Or get out of my head. Or not blog at 6 a.m. Or get on a schedule not usually found only in nocturnal creatures. Or mayybeeee…there I go again.
I really do feel alright about turning 30. I can’t promise I’ll stop cracking jokes for a month or so (or hell, maybe until I turn 31), but I generally like getting older. I feel more respected, more adult, like my decisions and thoughts are somehow more valid and important because I am A GROWN-UP. Each year around my birthday, I feel more confident, and that’s why. That part feels good.
What does NOT feel good is being an unemployed, single 30-year-old with forty extra pounds and a house-shaped albatross hanging from my neck weighing me down. I certainly did not expect to be in this position. I don’t know what I DID expect, but it wasn’t this. I know I”m a broken record (do you young kids out there know what a record EVEN IS?!??!?! I kid, I kid) talking about the same old shit for months. It’s not what I intend to do, when I click “Blog Admin” on the toolbar. But inevitably it bubbles up. Pavlovian response? The thin skin of my psyche? Is that all I talk about, in person, as well? Oh dear lord don’t let it be all I talk about.
