Tuesday, March 21, 2006

30 Years

This is the last day of all the twenties I get in this life.

By now I assumed I'd be:
- Married
- A mother
- A published writer
- Permanently employed
- Richer
- Svelter
- Living in Europe

To file under “well I’ll be gol-durned”:
- I have Hashimoto’s disease
- two pints of beer or one cup of coffee are now about my limit
- I care a lot less about what I look like, especially when I go to the dog park
- I can’t remember your name or recognize your face. Yeah, you. What’s-your-face.
- I either have to start doing those eye exercises or get reading glasses
- I can’t comfortably (or respectably) drink milk or eat ice cream
- I’m at least 30 - 40% grey
- Depression kicked my ass for a year and a half.
- Tomorrow, I'll be 30 years old.

But I won't freak out because of:
- Trevor
- All 15 members of my immediate family.
- My fuzzy-wuzzy-snookum-pookums-squishy-faces, Charlie and Kiwi
- Olives
- Coronation Street
- Peter Robinson , Jacqueline Winspear, Jasper Fforde , Elizabeth Peters, PD James
- Dr. Spicer, ND
- My new obsession and the Universal Waite, Haindl , Fairytale decks
- Tina and Richard
- The little projects Trevor and I have going
- The fact that 30 suits me.

Really, 30 years are what happened while I was making other plans. I’m quite happy with how it turned out anyway.

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