I am now 30 years old.
I’m just surprised I didn’t suffer from birthday depression, although it seems like I haven’t had a proper birthday depression episode since I started writing this blog 5 days a week. So that’s nice.
My life is actually crazier now than it was at the end of the year when I was business crying all over this motherfucker. Lots of things are happening. Loud noises, fast moves, all of it.
I’m attacking my problems with renewed vigor and energy, and I have several plans in the works. No doubt most of them will fail, and I’ll be right back to tears and the rending of mousepads. But, like Doctor Who says: I should be happy now. Because, of course, I shall be sad later.
I hear your thirties are a much more calm time. I wonder what that’s like. It sounds nice.
As a recently turned 34-year-old, I can tell you my 30s have been fucking lovely. Welcome to the club.
Thanks!