Go Shorty, it’s my birthday.
We gonna party like it’s my birthday
I’m not going to sip Bacardi like it’s my birthday because I’m on my TWW.
(50 Cent never saw that lyric coming…)
No, really. It is my birthday.
I’m not terribly excited about it. Normally, I love my birthday. I like to think of it as a day to celebrate me and my general awesomeness. I do whatever it is I want, which in the past has included hiking, literary walking tours (#nerdalert) and unicorn piñatas.
I’m also not one who is afraid of my age. I’m (now) 36, and I’m amazing. I’m in no way ashamed or embarrassed not to be 25 anymore. It’s almost an act of defiance to publicly embrace my age. Take THAT, Patriarchy!
This year, I just want it to go away.
35 sucked. It really did. This time last year, I started experiencing loathsome ovulation pain and became convinced that my uterus was in full-on revolt. Two of my friends’ mothers died. My own mom went into the hospital and has not left. My sister has not one, but two autoimmune diseases. And I’m officially sub-fertile.
That isn’t to say that there haven’t been good things. Like… Let’s see… I’m sure there is something in there that wasn’t actively terrible… My husband remained a beautiful, delightful man. My hair is looking fantastic. My cat is the light of my life. I ate good food. Um… I didn’t lose a limb. That seems like a good end-of-year result.
It isn’t that I’m not grateful for the positive things in my life. I truly am, especially because they are in stark contrast to the not-so-positive things. I just don’t see much use in pretending that the shit-to-glee ratio is balanced at the moment. Nope, I’ve got a huge ol’ pile of “Very Bad Things” for 35. There are also no definitive signs that 36 is improving, yet I remain open to the possibility. (WIDE OPEN. Do you hear me, Universe? WIDE OPEN TO IMPROVEMENT.)
This morning, I went for a run. I ran up to the top of a hill, which has a great view of the city skyline. I sat at the top for a few minutes, and mentally compiled this list of “Very Bad Things.” I kicked them around for a little bit, and let them know that I’m pretty much done with them. I have no more room for them.
Goodbye, 35. I’ve never been so happy to see the backside of a year.