My grumble, grumble, thirtieth, grumble birthday is coming up on Saturday. I’m kinda freaked out about it. I’ve never been one to fret about growing another year older. I drown myself in random quotes about birthdays that make me feel young and vibrant when that time of year rolls around. It pretty much works. A few well-knowns like “age is nothing but a number” and “it’s not how old you are but how old you feel” do the trick on days I search for those creeping grays.
But thirty? Holy hell.
I’m the last of my friends to cross the threshold.
I really do feel older. (Thanks largely to the two knee surgeries that have left me with a slight gimp and aching pain that rears its ugly head when it’s cold out.)
I tell Husband to turn down his loud music when he ramps it up. But come on, who wants to get their eardrums blasted out by Rage Against the Machine or Slipknot every “quiet” Sunday morning?
I’d MUCH rather spend my mornings with a mocha from Starbucks, a Chewy granola bar, and my blank word doc than a sweat session at the gym–even though I know which of those I *should* be doing.
And I’d much rather spend my nights cuddled beneath a blanket than out drinking with friends.
Is that so wrong? Am I making thirty the new fifty? I worry sometimes. Especially when Husband gets back from an open track meet this weekend and says he feels younger. Younger! Can you believe that? The nerve of him to mention youth when I’m about to be old and gray. Hmph!
I actually have plans for my thirtieth. A big bash with family and friends and beer and yummy cake and presents…it’s my sister-in-laws wedding! Oh, I’m sure I’ll do something the day or week after but for now there’s no plans. I kinda just want to curl up on my rocker, pet my cat, drink some tea and watch 60 Minutes*.
*For the record I don’t own a rocker, or a cat, I don’t drink tea, nor have I ever watched 60 Minutes. And I’ve especially never done them all at the same time which would absolutely catapult me into the Depends-Zone.*
Anyway, back to my thirtieth. I don’t want presents this year. Hell, I don’t even want to drink. (Did enough of that at RWA National, thank you very much.) What I would like is a day with no cooking, no cleaning, no loud music, no stress, and hey, what the hell, maybe a book deal thrown in at some point.
Yeah, that’d pretty much blow the top off year thirty.
I’d looove for you all to weigh in. How did you feel at thirty? Were you as freaked out as I am? What did you do? (And if you say you watched 60 Minutes I’m going to chuck my MTWTHF pill container right at your head.)
Edited to add: I forgot to mention (not surprising seeing as memory loss is the first thing to suffer in old age) that the 100 Follower Contest is coming to a close. I’ll pick the winner of Eve of Samhain or a $15 Starbucks Giftcard TOMORROW. If you’re interested don’t forget to follow the “Author Spotlight” link and comment.