Turning 30: the good, the bad and the ugly

"Thirty ain't so bad."

Said no one ever.

Well, maybe people say it, but I guarantee they don't mean it.

And then when they say, "no, really, being over 30 is pretty great!" it means they're dying a little inside.

Can I get a holla! from the Over-30 Club?!

Hello?

Holla?

I know you're out there, you're probably just thinking to yourself, "but self, although my mind and body have started to literally fall apart, I still feel some areas of my life are in fact better than before..."

In this case I would have to agree.  When it comes certain things, I'm feelin' pret-ty darn good, too.

Like my appearance: no longer do I feel like the whole world is judging me if I wear my slippers into a convenience store, or if my morning hair and leftover make-up look like a combination bird's nest dumpster fire and I take that whole show out on the road for some pancakes.

I take that back, the world is judging me, but now I don't care.  I just want pancakes.

Also I'm finally okay with who I am.  And who exactly is that, you ask?  I'm random and creative.  I like to be impulsive but only if I can plan on it.  Awkwardness doesn't even begin to describe my conversations with strangers and those moments where I shake someone's hand and our thumbs don't quite align.

Side question: is it then okay to insert left hand to rearrange the shake to fit properly??  Oh I hope so...

I'm funny and sarcastic and I don't take the right things seriously.  I'll never be as patient as I'd like, or have enough self-control to not say exactly what I'm thinking when my feathers get ruffled.

I'll never be like those girls who seem to have it all together and now I'm finally old enough to be okay with it.

Most of the time.

Now on the other hand...

Everything else is falling apart.

Like my joints.  They ache All. The. Time.  And they don't tolerate anything other than soft cushions and 90-degree angles.  Sitting cross-legged and playing on the floor with my nephew?  Ha!  "Sorry J, Auntie needs her sittin' pillow, oh and can someone help me get up?!"

And hellloooo anxiety!  It's like my brain gave up on me, "her? no, she definitely doesn't know what she's doing, enter panic mode stat."  I may or may not be having an anxiety attack right now.  Over what?  Is the dog pooping in his crate?! when am I going to have time to strip my chipping nail polish?! why didn't I put on two coats of nail polish?! Is the crock-pot going to burn my house down?! when are we going to close on the new house already?! is Corey going to flip out when I tell him my idea for bookcases?! it's freezing why didn't I wear socks?!

It's fun.

Another big part of my new found anxiety is I'm pretty sure I need to see a doctor about everything.

Is this bump in my cheek/nose crease cancer?

My chest hurts, I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack.

I need to do something about this self-diagnosed carpal tunnel.

And then there's my stomach.  Talk about sen-si-TIVE.  Drink a full glass of wine, she gets upset.  Ride in the car with anyone other than me driving, she gets upset.  Eat lettuceforcryinoutloud, she gets wicked upset.  I never had an iron-clad constitution to begin with, but tummy grumblies after a burrito//ice cream sundae night??

Gimme a break.

But on a positive note, even with the aches and pains that come with my body completely rebelling against me, I would still take the position I'm in, feeling confident with myself, over being able to do a cartwheel without throwing up afterward or sitting on the living room floor without memory foam but not having a single clue about who I am or where I'm going.

Now tell me Over-40 Club, does this feeling last??

Please say yes, please say yes....

Oh to be young again...but maybe not this young.  (Kimberlie, Stacie, Katie on tamale-making day)