I have 30 hours left of being 30.
If you go by the calendar date, at least. If you go by the hour I was born I have until about 7am tomorrow – but tomorrow is a holiday so I am sleeping the fuck in. (I don’t turn my alarm off on weekends, though, so I’ll be semi-awake in a haze of shut-the-fuck-up.)
Two months ago I should’ve reflected on my age and realized I was the same age at which my mother had me, but she is not yet a grandmother. The average age at which a woman had her first child when we were being born was 25. It is now 28. This is all irrelevant to me because I’m not having children, but it is strongly instilled in me to always compare myself to others.
That’s why I have to make these last 30 hours count.