(no subject)

I had absolutely no problem with turning thirty, I kind of enjoyed it even. Thirty-six, however, is mildly freaking me out for some reason; I don't know if it's because I'm now officially closer to forty than to thirty (not that I'm particularly stressed out about forty) or if it's just because saying it illustrates the disconnect between the age I am physically and the age I am in my head, where I seem to still to think I'm around twenty-four. Maybe it's because neither of my parents made it to sixty and so I'm going to start freaking out about each passing year starting, oh, right about now. Eh. Thirty was a good year, hopefully thirty-six will be too.

Right then. Coffee and Wegmans to pick out a birthday cake, then home again to spend way too much time cleaning the house. Yay. Maybe if I get enough done early enough, I can manage a quick nap in the hammock.