So give me a stage
Where this bull here could rage
And though I could fight
I’d much rather recite
So today is my birthday. I turned the big three-one. 3-1. XXX-I.
As it turns out, it’s a lot like turning 30, but without all the existential angst. Age creeps up on you, I don’t feel any older than I did when I was 30, but feel a hell of a lot older than I did when I was 20. There were a few things I wanted to do before I was 30, and I made it on all counts, even if a couple of them were by mere months. For some reason, I didn’t set forth any goals to achieve before I turned 31 — that’s either a failure or a triumph, depending on how you look at it.
Still, goals or not, it was a very good year. We bought our first house, and I quit the job I needed to quit before I got bitter and cynical (well, before I got more bitter and cynical.) Made some friends, made some enemies, and drank a ton.
Here’s to year 32.