It's three minutes to eleven at night as I type this. In just over an hour, I'll be thirty years old. And I'm feeling... Yes, I'm feeling ok. Kind of victorious, in a small kind of way, and grateful in a big way.
My twenties were somewhat tumultuous, like many people's, though as with most traumas and dramas, worst things happen at sea. Even so, difficult times. I owe a good part of this victory to my mother, and to my friends Bev, Lesley, Cheryl, and Sandy, and of course, Big C. Being twenty-nine has been the most stable year of my life, and my happiest. I'm really lucky, you know? Really, this isn't my victory, it's other people's. But I'm so very happy, grateful, lucky, and Lord knows what else to say in, now fifty six minutes, I am thirty years old. It didn't have to be this way, not everyone gets to this point in their lives. But I did. Somehow, I made it.
And for once, I don't care about society, I don't care about the fashion magazines. I don't care that so many things are geared towards people in their early twenties, that beauty in this crazy world is represented by the so so young women in Vogue. Somehow, I don't know how, in fifty minutes, I can say - I made it.
Maybe I gained a little wisdom somewhere along the way, but although I am aware of things I haven't achieved, I don't think for a second I won't achieve them at some point. I have achieved something very important (with a lot of help): stability, happiness, and love. That means so much, and I appreciate and am thankful for them with all my heart. All this, feeling loved, being in love, being happy and being settled, and making it this far makes me feel like I can do anything. It does give me more confidence than I've had in my whole life.
So, thirty is good, it's a good age to be for me. I never thought I'd say that, when I bought into the values of the capitalist world. I thought it would be some trauma, a flag to stick into a mountain of failures. All the things I didn't do. But I did some stuff. And I can do other stuff. I won't wake up depressed tomorrow, and I'm not sad now. I'm sitting on my bed, Trotwood is sitting above me on the curtain pole, after this I'll go downstairs and have coffee with Big C, introduce Trot to his brand new cage, then come to bed later and read Money by Martin Amis (don't ask me why: in short, saw it for £2 today, remembered it was on my list, and started it in the car. Surprised I like it so far!). Then tomorrow, or, actually, in forty-two minutes, I'll say, "Yes, I made it".
It's exciting. I like thirty. It's just thirty-nine minutes away.