Tuesday, 20 January 2009
I turned 30 last Thursday. Yep, that's right, t-h-i-r-t-y. Not happy about that. I have no pictures to post of this occasion. Nothing exciting really happened, except that Jonathan flew home from New York that day shortly before the plane that crashed into the Hudson. (I thank God every time I see him standing by the baggage carousel, with another trip behind us.) I have a confession to make... I've been dreading this day for an entire year. I really never thought that a certain age would bother me, but for some reason, this one does. I don't look around at other thirty-somethings and think "Wow! They're old!", but for some reason, I feel like I am. Does anyone want to try and explain this nonsensical reasoning?