Days until Christmas: five
So. I'm 29 years old today. Imagine that.
Today I enter the last year of my twenties, a concept that I am really unable to properly wrap my head around as of yet. It's the first birthday since 2004, when I turned 22, that I've celebrated as a single man, and it is to date the only birthday I've celebrated alone with no one else to share in the festivities.
Festivities which, really, are non-existent, as you may have guessed.
It is 5:30 AM. I have been awake all night, since around 11 or so. I took a short nap last night from about 6:30 to 10, slept off and on, and came upstairs again afterwards as I could no longer lie in bed and stare at the walls. For most of the night, I had a nasty headache, which became coupled with an upset stomach once I took pills for it. It wasn't pleasant. Indeed, I still have a bit of an upset stomach even now, which is probably the other reason I'm still awake. I spent the night listening to podcasts while cleaning, doing the dishes, and reorganizing my room. I also broke out the Xbox for only the second time in the past five months or so, to play a bit of Star Wars: Battlefront to get my mind off of the thought of getting older.
Because, dear reader, I truly am older now; today begins, as I said, the last year of my twenties, and I think I've aged more in the past year or so -- metaphorically speaking, of course -- than I've aged more than any other year of my life. It's not just a mental aging, it's physical as well; I'm losing weight (mainly because I'm too poor to eat heartily most of the time anymore), I'm losing my hair at a quickening pace, I think I'm developing arthritis in my hands (no, I'm not kidding) and if you look closely, there's some gray hairs in my beard. All of these things are rather painful to admit, of course, but true. I'm not a young kid anymore.
It is a mental aging too, obviously. I refuse to call it "maturity," because I'm still the guy who owns and wears a large collection of comic-book t-shirts and plays Pokemon games on a daily basis. I don't think I'll ever be "mature" in the sense that I'll stop doing that stuff, so therefore I refuse to call myself such.
As an aside, one of the oldest members of my entering class in the department told me that there's only a few more years I can get away with dressing the way I do before it'll seem creepy and/or weird. This is also a guy who had stable jobs in advertising and writing-related fields for twenty years or so before joining our program, a guy who dresses his age, in nice polo shirts, khakis and sweaters, and looks/is professional in every sense of the term within the department. Very few of us take our appearances so seriously when on campus or when teaching, and I am not one of those people. Hence why it's not uncommon for me to teach class while wearing my Iron Maiden or "The Mighty Thor" vintage t-shirts (for example) and camouflage board shorts. With flip-flops, if it's warm enough.
I had to think about this for a moment, really. I am getting older; he has a point. There will be a time where I reach "that age" where I can no longer pull off the laid-back college student look, and will have to completely upgrade my wardrobe to something that will better suit my age and profession, especially if I stay in academia for a prolonged period of time and teaching.
And then I remembered that I'm a poet, which is basically free license to dress unconventionally, and I remembered as well that my dad is 61 and still wears nerdy clothing on a regular basis, including comic-book-related t-shirts. Granted, he doesn't wear them to work (at least not frequently), but he can pull it off without looking like an idiot. In fact, they suit him well. And if there's anyone in this world I've been inspired to be more like, it's my dad. So maybe there's hope for me yet.
Anyway, I digress.
I wouldn't say I've been forced to mentally age more in this past year than in any other of my life, but it certainly wasn't voluntary for the most part. Let's be frank, folks, I've been through a lot of shit this past year, and none of it was truly voluntary. From the difficulties and monetary issues involved in buying and maintaining a landboat-like vehicle, to the slow disintegration of and eventual breakup of the relationship with my former girlfriend, to the perils and pitfalls of living alone, driving 150 miles a week back and forth for work/school, learning how to budget every penny, and dealing with the most difficult and work-intensive semester I've ever lived through, it's been rough. I won't lie. I've dealt with a lot of decidedly grown-up shit this past year, and it is only by sheer luck -- and the help and support of my friends and family -- that I've been able to make it through everything without giving up. Like I've said before, bettering myself a little more every day has become my motto in life, and I'm sticking by it. I have to, in order to keep getting up in the morning. It's that drive to succeed that will get me through my 29th year on this planet and hopefully carry me far into my thirties.
I, of course, have no plans for my "big day." I'll probably take a nap on the couch this morning at some point, cats on top of me or by my side, just so that I can get some sleep and see if it makes my upset stomach feel better. At 6AM, the weather has just now completely turned decidedly nasty, and Newton is in the midst of an ice storm, or something akin to an ice storm -- it looks like ice mixed with snow, and it's starting to coat everything in the neighborhood. We've gotten no snow accumulation yet up here, and it looks like if we get any, it'll be light. With the ice, however, I'm doubly glad I put the Monte Carlo in the garage yesterday morning.
Meanwhile, Sadie and her big kitty eyes are trying desperately to get me off the computer and go lay down so that she can sleep with/on me.
I've gotten about ten "happy birthday" wishes from friends thus far, all via Facebook. I won't be getting any via phone, at least not today -- my phone battery died yesterday, and I'd rather let it stay dead and not charge it until after my birthday passes, so that I don't get a text or a call every five minutes with more birthday wishes. While I do greatly appreciate it, it's also a pain in the ass, especially if I'm trying to get some sleep.
The big box from my parents should arrive today, or at least I hope it will. I have to be awake enough in the afternoon hours to actually listen/look for the mailman, so that if I need to sign for it or otherwise confirm delivery, I can do so. Once it gets here, I will be documenting all of its contents for the blog, as you know.
On that note, this 29-year-old is going back to bed. Farewell, folks.
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