Hello 35…

Hello 35 — we meet at last. I always knew this day would come, and now that it has I am kind of… bummed. I feel like it’s not pos­si­ble — it’s too ear­ly for me to be thir­ty-five, it is just too freak­ing soon. Way too freak­ing soon. Yes, thir­ty five years is thir­ty five years — it doesn’t come lat­er or any ear­li­er for dif­fer­ent peo­ple. And no, it’s not a vil­lain who is com­ing for you… but damn, it sure does feel that way.

Thir­ty five was always the ran­dom age I’d throw out if I was talk­ing about events far in the future. It always seemed so “mid­dle aged” and I was, and have always been, young dammit! Heh, that isn’t at all true… I’ve been feel­ing a lot old­er than my years these days. Espe­cial­ly since the boy was born. He’s fuck­ing crazy. Any­how… hap­py birth­day to me, I’m thir­ty-five today.

The rain has been tor­ren­tial on this gloomy, cold morn­ing. Until about three years ago, I always had a beau­ti­ful birth­day — it was inevitable. Not so much any­more.

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I live in a sub­urb of Bal­ti­more, so every year now on my birth­day I get to hear all about how­ev­er many years it has been since Fred­die Grey and the Bal­ti­more unrest and the riots… heh, hap­py 32nd birth­day, Katie. My 33rd wasn’t any bet­ter — I was preg­nant. I found out two days before my birth­day… I was already 4 and a half months along. I was also preg­nant on my 30th birth­day — heh, still haven’t encoun­tered a birth­day sit­u­a­tion that is quite as depress­ing as turn­ing 30 while pregnant.When I was 18, my car key broke off in the igni­tion of my car when I turned it on so I spent a large chunk of the day wait­ing for AAA — yeah, that one was spe­cial… almost as spe­cial as my 17th birth­day when my boyfriend (whom I was plan­ning on break­ing up with like… that night) threw me a sur­prise par­ty on my antic­i­pat­ed “way out,” so instead of break­ing up before prom, we broke up after prom (on my actu­al sev­en­teenth birth­day) in my dri­ve­way at 4:00am after a night filled with weird ten­sion and under­stat­ed ani­mos­i­ty. On my six­teenth birth­day, I found out that I didn’t make the dance troupe I had spent the entire scholas­tic year prepar­ing to audi­tion for and was all but guar­an­teed to make it — heh, coul­da used that guar­an­tee. Hmm… appar­ent­ly, I’ve had some pret­ty crap­py birth­days. Oh, let’s not for­get about my twen­ty-sixth birth­day when my freak­ing car got repos­sessed… not like I didn’t see it com­ing, but of all pos­si­ble days!

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