I realize I should probably wait until tomorrow to do this, but I think tomorrow I will be hard at work at the business of being 30, so all the adjusting must happen today while I'm still 29.
Because I can't begin to write how I feel about this (and yes, I know it's ridiculous that it even bothers me at all), I'm turning to poetry. While neither of these poems is actually about turning 30, either could be.
First, here's Self-Portrait at 28, by David Berman. It's one of my favorites. An excerpt:
There are things I've given up on
like recording funny answering machine messages.
It's part of growing older
and the human race as a group
has matured along the same lines.
Also, another Billy Collins poem, On Turning Ten. An excerpt:
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
p.s. If anyone has a time-stopping invention you could patent and get running by midnight, I'd greatly appreciate it.
Song of the Day
"One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer" - John Lee Hooker
Happy birthday!
I'll do you one better and give you song lyrics about an age you haven't yet reached.
From "Dishes" by Pulp:
"A man told me to beware of 33, he said
'It was not an easy time for me'
But I'll get through
Even though I've got no miracles to show you
I'd like to make this water wine
But it's impossible
I've got to get these dishes dry."
Ahh, domestic monotony. God bless Jarvis Cocker.