A Starving Artist & The Battle at Dirty Thirty, Ep.13

30 Reasons Why 30 Will Be OK

Reason #28: ...  ... ...

Here's the deal:  I'm just gonna go ahead and forego the final three reasons.  Why?  Because I don't think I care that much anymore to rationalize/excuse/reason-out my turning 30.

Because, the truth of the matter is (...blargh...) I think I'm actually getting excited about it. 

I can't.  Fucking.  Believe it.

ALL DAY, I've just kinda been sitting around like Oh.  Weird.  I'm turning 30 tomorrow, when FOR DAYS!  WEEKS!!   I've been legitimately squeamish over it.  And, I guess, just going through the seven stages of denial over it.  And then, whilst walking into Whole PayCheck late this afternoon, I, for whatever reason, found myself finally reaching that Acceptance-stage.

I have no idea why.

But, all of a sudden, I just found myself going OK.

And then, shortly thereafter:  That's...kinda cool?  I think?

And then, shortly thereafter:  OK, truthfully, my 20s were kinda horseshit. 

This is not to say that a ton of really amazing miraculous things didn't happen in My Twenties.  Obviously they did:  I lived in a series of amazing places, visited more amazing ones, did the grad school-thing, met my boyfriend, met my dog, started doing the Professional-thing, did a lot of the Wedding-things, started being a bystander to the whole Pregnancy-thing, grew some balls...all the things.  These things among other things were glorious things and helped, largely, define what was My Twenties.

But also...I mean, I kinda got my ass handed to me throughout My Twenties.  Lots.  The number of different ways I had my heart broken, the number of different ways that I displayed myself as a complete and total asshole, the number of different times that I found myself scarily drunk, the number of different times that I found myself scarily broke,  the scabies, "the Maggot", the number of different things that I had to find out the hard way, the number of different things that I never ever ever hope to experience ever again...These things among other things were just plain awful, and these, too, helped to largely define what was My Twenties.

At this point, I feel happy to leave it all behind.  To legitimately feel like I've grown a bit from all of it, but to look at these events and occurrences and moments in time and say OK.  They happened.  Then.

What's next?

And I don't know.

And I think I'm over not knowing.  I think I'm just excited to see.  And I think I really mean that.

...

...

...And then I finished writing all of this.  And felt relieved.  Like YES!  PERfect summation of My Twenties!  And I looked at my boyfriend and asked him to read it, as I occasionally do before hitting the Publish-button, because...Well, just because.

"Oh.  Wow."
What?
"Well, that's all pretty sad, don't you think?"
...What?
"I mean, that's an awfully gloomy post.  I didn't realize your Twenties were all that bad."

...And then I lost it.  I lost my shit.

Because they weren't.  All in all, they weren't.  They were simultaneously painful and wonderful and I am, in fact, terrified about leaving it all behind.  I am.

And I lost my shit over it.  And I ran into the other room.

"Honey?"
No.
"Come back, please."
I'm fine.
"Come back.  Please."

And I did.  And I sat.  And I cried and spewed-out a ton of shit about getting old and great triumphs and getting shit on and not being grateful and being too anxious.

"Angela."
What? 

And he's the nicest.

"Nothing defeats you.  Nothing.  Ever.  And I feel like this birthday is defeating you.  And that's so silly.  It's just a number, Angela.  That's it.  There is nothing different other than the number changing.  Yes, OK.  You had all of these things happen to you, and some good, and some bad, and fine.  But you came out of every single one of them with flying colors.  Why on earth should this be any different?"

...And then we heard the neighbors fucking downstairs.  Which was disgusting, but in the grossest and most hilarious of possible ways, felt like a perfect button to my mini-tantrum.

I don't know, guys.  I don't know anything.  I'm sad about it, I'm scared about it, I don't know what to expect from any of it, I don't. And I haven't.

And I think that all just means I'm ready for it.

...

So fucking bring it.