So I am 30.
My inner child and I made peace at about 5:30 p.m. yesterday afternoon as I went for a 5-miler in the driving rain. I played Rage, Nirvana and Motley Crue on the ipod. We had a good run, me and my inner child. And she forgave me for getting old. Then last night I dreamt that my mother came to tell me happy birthday. And her gift? Marijuana. What is my subconscious telling me with that one?
The day was filled with little annoyances: parking ticket, broken glass, rain, Samara's neediness, my father stuck in NYC. But R did manage to pull together a nice birthday dinner with several close friends, family and a cake at my favorite Thai place.
I can't say I am filled with wisdom and the birthday was actually harder than I anticipated. But I did it. It's over. On to the next drama saga. Thank you all for indulging my incredibly narcissistic trip down memory lane.
My cake in all it's glory:
And the message? "Happy 30th. You are still a baby." Don't I know it.