Well, That Could Have Gone Better:

My birthday is in a week and I'm having a hard time getting excited about it. After the past several years of organizing parties with really disappointing turnout, I'm over it. My mom's coming in to town, though, and I'm looking forward to spending time with her. That feels sufficient.

Trish seemed really disappointed when I told her I didn't want any gifts, but I just don't. The only things I really want right now are intangibles: more time, more energy, more motivation, or just to graduate school. Or to have friends who don't flake on events they've said they'll attend. Those aren't things that you can wrap.

So, whatever. I'll be 32, and at least I won't be sad about having thrown a poorly attended party for myself. And maybe next year will be more satisfying.

 In 6 weeks, I'll be turning 30.

I'm struggling with a way to make this special in a place that doesn't feel all that special to me. I want to go out of my 20s doing the things that made this decade really great - bike rides, day drinking, good food, too much makeup, and dancing until bar close with people I love or can at least tolerate the presence of. I'm planning on doing these things, I'm just afraid no one will show up.

If I had the time available, I'd take a trip somewhere, likely either Austin or Chicago, or one of my many "someday" destinations like NOLA, San Franciso, NYC, any Pacific island, etc. But of course my work load for the upcoming quarter has me in class four days a week, and working two of the three days I have off from school. So I've got to do the best with what I've got and hope the people here can actually make it happen.

Trish and I have been discussing birthday plans a lot. She's turning 39 this year, so transitional ages are something we're both thinking about. I asked her if 30 felt as far away to her as 20 did to me. She thought about it a lot, and then said that yes, it did. And there's something reassuring about that. I guess through this tumultuous coming-of-age adventure/shit-show, I've gotten used to the idea of being a Matryoshka doll of past selves. The thought of reaching the point of being a constant adult me feels very oppressive.

So the good news is, I guess, that my life can continue being a clusterfuck for as long as I want it to.