I saw that carved into an art table in college years ago, and it has stuck in the back of my mind since then.
I am turning 30 in about four weeks. Yes, just another year, just another birthday, but to me it is reaching far beyond that.
It is this whole big self-awareness thing, this huge self-check…
And I am not who I want to be.
I live in a shit hole apartment, have a job that has destroyed my ability for compassion, and melted my soul, and I never leave the house except for work.
And the hardest part is that no one cares. Because I made it that way.
You forge relationships in your 20s, you make lifelong friends who can help you when the ceiling is falling in…but not me.
There will be no big bash, because my family isn’t interested in driving out here for dinner, and I have no friends to line up a night of total debauchery in celebration. Vegas is off because no one ever bothered to make plans, these borrowed friends, and the most important part, no one cares.
I used to think I didn’t want friends, I didn’t need friends, but now that I’m facing 30 without them, I’m quite sad.
Disappointed.
Bruised.
So here’s to me, and my birthday, in bed all day, incapacitated with sorrow.
I am not who I want to be.
And now its a little late.
