Clear-eyed and counting down

To my birthday, that is. I imagine it's a momentous age, thirty, but it doesn't really feel that way. Perhaps when it's closer. But what am I at now... six more days? How much closer can it get?

Well, it could be here. That would be closer.

I've seen two very different approaches to turning thirty, from men and women alike. They either A) get really depressed, or at least feign being really depressed in order to accumulate sympathy from the people around them who are pretending to care, or B) go out in a blaze of glory, in a sense, partying their brains out like they're turning twenty-one again... basically, fighting the inclination to fall prey to the above-mentioned option A.

As for me, I'm not sensing myself leaning toward either one. I'm not trying to be original or anything... I'm just not feeling it. Mind you, I'm not totally ambivalent about it, either. I'm actually very happy to be turning thirty. There was a time in my life when I didn't think I was going to see this birthday, so that's a good thing. Of course, it reminds me that I'm constantly riding out the odds, and each passing year provides me with another chance to give medical fate the finger, in a manner of speaking. Well, in a manner of speaking that's very much my manner of speaking, I guess. Thirty is looking better and better, the more I think about it. And I do think about it a lot, but I can't seem to make myself depressed about it.

For starters, I'm doing a lot better than I ever thought I would at this point, and not just healthwise. Not only is my life pretty cool, but I'm cool! I finally made it to cool! And trust me, it's been a long, ackward time coming. I'm living in New York, I'm about to finish my first album (which is now being sequenced and finally reproduced), I'm en route to getting my PhD in something that makes me sound kinda smart and respectable, and I'm in love with someone who seems to reciprocate the sentiment pretty much on a voluntary basis.

Sweet.

For my thirtieth, I think I'll have a party. I'll invite some people, and about half of them will show if I'm lucky, but we'll have fun anyway. I'll celebrate the thing, feel good about it, and end up looking and feeling pretty much the same as I did at twenty-nine. Of course, minus last week's pink eye and since my most recent hair straightening a couple of days ago (and for the curious, yes, it actually lasted a year), the looks might be a tad different. But hell, I'm just glad to be around.