Overtaken by the impending doom
The impending doom that is my 35th birthday (on Wednesday) has been preceded by a depressive funk that I cannot shake. For the first time in 27 years (since 1980, the year Sister #4 was born), I don’t want to talk about, celebrate, or even contemplate my birthday. This is in stark contrast to my usual mode of operation, whereby I bully everyone I know into spending a week celebrating the fabulousness of me.
This year I am having a tough time finding that reason to celebrate. I think maybe it’s because I don’t feel so fabulous or worthy. Part of me, the loudest part lately, seems to think that I’m not where I should be in life, that I’ve failed. But the other part of me keeps reminding the loud part that how can you have failed when you have no goals? And really wasn’t buying a house one of our goals at some point? Or is that just too easy to forget when you want to wallow?
Besides, wanting something else, something that you can’t even name seems like the lamest reason to be depressed that I can think of.
Of course I can’t help think that the age 35 has a lot to do with my mood. In my mind I have decided that 35 is the magical age where your uterus automatically falls out and you are officially dubbed a spinster. I know it’s irrational, but is depression of any sort rational?
My mom always told me that getting older was preferable to the alternative.
She was right, as she most always is.
03 Jun 07 at 3:20 pm #it’s hard to top 06.06.06, that’s true. think about where you were a year ago. don’t remember, i’ll tell you. we were crammed into a shitty shitty shakopee movie theatre watching the shitty shitty omen with poser emo/goth kids with fake chains and no concept of how fucking lame it was to see the omen on 06.06.06.
you’ve come a long way baby!
03 Jun 07 at 9:41 pm #