Reflections of the cusp of thirty

Halloween is just around the corner. After that, November begins and my birthday looms ahead like some awkward thing waiting to shank me and leave me in a pool of blood while it walks away laughing. I’m going to be thirty this year. I keep telling myself it’s not a big deal, that I’m going to step over the threshold into the beginning of being middle aged with a bit of dignity. Then, then I think about what I’ve accomplished and managed to get done in the last ten years and I sort of weep.

Which, really isn’t fair to myself. I’ve done a lot. I’ve met people and lived and become a better writer because of it. That’s, I think, the more important thing to take away from the mess. The real problem is I anticipated doing something more exciting than working retail on the edge of thirty. But, then I suppose, we all have to work our way through some awkward phase to get where we want to be and there’s no sense in feeling sorry for oneself. Well, no more than necessary anyway. It’s not like I don’t have enough self-loathing to convincingly pull off being Dean Winchester for Halloween. The short hair cut does help, more than a little, but the guilt and self-loathing are hard to fake.

So, tonight, I’m going to sit here in my new shirt, watch horror movies with friends and try really hard not to think about the gray hairs creeping along the edges of my temples and the fact that I can’t drink as much coffee as I used to, but that my alcohol tolerance is still ridiculous. I’m going to count my blessings on that and carry on. Because, really, thirty isn’t even close to the end of the world, or my lifetime and there’s plenty of time for finding my partner and have adventures. Especially now that I’ve gotten my life path all figured out and sorted. Well, mostly figured out. And not really sorted. But I have a thing. Which is like a plan, but with more grandeur.

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