Turning 30

There is something to be said about adulthood and feeling the age that you actually are. It was my 30th birthday last week. It’s something I have been keeping an eye on for a while, watching it slowly creep up on me like some sort of jungle cat. Turns out when it finally pounced, it was more of an easily distracted house cat. For something that has been hyped up to be this huge milestone, it really wasn’t much of anything. Woo. Thirty. Anyway. I’ve never really had my birthday celebrated by anyone. I gave up hoping for the parties and gifts at a very young age because it was never worth the disappointment I would inevitably feel. In all my years on this planet I can count a grand total of two birthday parties held in my honour, and I can’t even remember which birthdays they were. Perhaps I was 4, or maybe 5, and then again at 13 or so… I feel like the fact I cannot remember speaks for itself. Regardless, my partner insisted on planning something. It’s a big birthday, I should be…