lunes, junio 16, 2008

30 years and counting...

So, it seems sort of silly, to care, you know, about a birthday. And really, I don't, not exactly, not entirely. At least I keep telling myself.

Birthdays aren't about presents, no, they aren't. They are more about: hmmm, what are they about? Phone calls from friends for the week preceding and following, emails, texts and, sometimes even cards delivered from that almost obsolete service which is the US postal service.

Yesterday I was given a present, unceremoniously. It wasn't my birthday present. It was just a because present, and it made me smile because of its simplicity and grace.

I feel sick. Yes, and not because of nerves, or anxiety or... well maybe a little, but more than that, I think I just met a vegetable that didn't agree with me, and there, I awoke on my 30th birthday to the soft buzz of a text message across the room and an unhappy tummy.

Why does 30 seem like more of a big deal then, say, 29? Well, I am officially not a twenty-year-old any more. So what? Right, who wants to be a twenty-year-old anyway? Except, well, then I am reminded of everything that I haven't finished. Like the dissertation that I am trying desperately to start... and the packing that I left incomplete, or that laundry that is waiting for me. Sigh. Nothing special about today after all. It is a rainy, muggy Monday. I. needed a shower, so I drove her to school and returned the DVD that failed to work for a second time, and rather chose an adaptation of Orwell's Animal Farm for her. Nothing says you can't start them young, right?

Today is no different than yesterday, but somehow, my destitution, my lack of liquidity, my debt... they seem a bit more concrete. I am 30 years old, and the sole supporter of an 8-year-old child, and by all societal standards, I am not much of a success. And yet... I don't really mind it. Money is just money, and the fact that I haven't got much only bothers me once a month when bill time comes around. In a year or two I will have completed this self-imposed poverty (if I can ever start the dang dissertation, that is) and will be free. Free! Free by 32 doesn't sound so bad.

True, it isn't a nice, neat, round decade, but I can do that. 32. That's the goal.

So meanwhile, I am focusing on making the water-treading as enjoyable and as life-like as possible, getting out into the sunshine (blistering, though it may be) and just letting myself float, with a breeze on my skin, and a song on my lips.

Happy Birthday to me, indeed.

30