Five Days...

This Saturday is my birthday. Birthdays have never really excited or bothered me too much. 33 feels different. I don't know why. I was almost relieved to turn 30. I have looked 30 since I was about 13 so it seemed only right. 31 and 32 seemed like toying or experimenting with adulthood. 33... well, it's like I have really committed to being in my thirties now.

I feel like it's time to be an adult. I should have a real job and a mortgage and a 401k, not to mention a husband, kids, high waisted "mom jeans" and a mini-van. It's not that I want those things necessarily, but I feel as if I should want to want those things. Except for the mom jeans, I don't think anyone sets out wanting those...They are just one of those things that happen, like using the word "sneakers", having balls on your socks and and calling anyone under 25, a kid.

33 just seems to lack an identity, aside from the exciting fact of being divisible by eleven.

That being said...I'm strangely optimistic.
Things seem to be looking up. I reckon.
and speaking of looking up, some say turkeys can drown from looking up in the rain.
I wouldn't want to come off as too optimistic.