I'm sitting at home today, fate having smiled upon me and worked it out so that I have no classes on this, my birthday.
I'm now no longer thirty, but "in my thirties". And for the first time ever on a birthday, I feel old. Is it because I actually think being in my thirties is terrible? No. Do I think it is especially old in and of itself? No. But society and mother nature have deemed that it is. There are certain things you are supposed to have done by this age, and there are certain things that biologically, after 30 get harder.
I'm in my thirties, and I'm not close to being done with school. Which means I'm not close to establishing a career.
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have a real life plan. Oh sure, I kinda know what is going on for the next few years, but after that? Who knows?
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have any savings. I have enough to get by for now, but retirement for me at this point looks to be spent begging for change on the street.
I'm in my thirties, and I'm not in a relationship. Hell, there aren't even any prospects on the horizon. And you know what they say about the chances of a woman over 35 getting married...
I'm in my thirties, and I don't have kids. I think I want them, but if I don't get on that right quick, it won't happen.
I'm in my thirties, and my parents won't be around forever. This isn't news, but they are of an age where dying wouldn't necessarily be dying young. People die in their sixties. Both my parents lost one of their parents by the time they were my age.
Wow. Writing that all down was supposed to be cathartic, and to maybe explain why I'm less than joyful. But reading it in print? It is just damn depressing. And if I didn't have a latte and chocolate chip pancakes waiting for me, I might just stick my head in the oven. But I've never say no to caffeine and chocolate, and I don't intend to start now. After all, I'm in my thirties now, and stuck in my ways.