we're coming into the home strech of my thirtieth birthday, dear friends. yep. one more month and seven more days. wasn't there supposed to be some stuff i've accomplished by now? or is 30 the new 21 and i shouldn't worry about my 30th? i distinctly remember telling myself when i was twenty that i would learn to sail a boat by the time i was thirty. that has not happened. the little lake near our house has sunfish sailing lessons but it's in water that is ninety percent duck doo-doo and it freaks me out too much so i can't sign up for those. there's also the little problem of not owning a sailboat. but wouldn't it be nice to just know that you could hop on board and sail that sucker to the ends of the earth?
i definitely was under the impression when i was in my late teens and early twenties that you had things together when you were turning thirty - like that was just a given, something akin to the planets lining up correctly. that by the time you were thirty, the town you chose to live in had affordable housing, the job you had was good with decent wages, good benefits and normal co-workers who didn't mention diarrhea every ten seconds, if you wanted to have a kid it wouldn't cost $650 a month to be on your spouse's health insurance and you thought you'd come into your own and finally lose that little bit of pudge that's been hanging on your ass for 12 years but no, it's actually grown BIGGER. plus, my hair, which for a million years and much to my consternation was straight as a pin has started growing wavy and frizzy and that is SO not the style these days.
rant over until i actually TURN thirty. this was just the pre-rant.