I realized, yesterday, that in 30 days I will be 30 years old.
This seems, somehow, simultaneously very old and very young.
I mean, I can't imagine that I'm actually going to be 30, because generally I feel about fifteen, and most people think I'm about twenty four. This is not to say that I think I'm some gorgeous young thing - the fifteen year old me in my head is really awkward, and the twenty four year old me in other people's heads is probably just because I wear a lot of sunscreen, and thus have very smooth, unlined skin. But I took sort of an unusual path, and so, at almost-thirty, I find myself just graduated from college and trying to start a career. So the idea that I am not some young thing with all the time in the world is difficult for me to process, because...well, all the people who are in the same point in their lives as I am are twenty three, so why can't I be twenty three?
But then, on the other hand, I live with my grandmother, who is 85, and let me tell you: the woman has sweaters that are older than I am. We had lunch a couple of weeks ago with a woman she's been friends with for seventy two years. Seventy. Two. Years. So looking at it that way, I am still pretty young, you know?
But anyway: thirty. It's a thing, for sure. I mean, if this were Logan's Run, the dot on my hand would start blinking any time now. So I've decided there are some things that I should do, things that I have, over the course of the last thirty years of my life, meant to do, and then never did. I'll come up with one a day for the next month, and then, once I really am thirty, I'll do them. Because thirty years is long enough to wait.