Well, okay. This is it. This is the last day that I will spend being in my twenties. Tomorrow the dial will turn and there will be nothing I can do to hold it back. I looked in the mirror last night and practiced saying "I'm thirty."
This last week of my twenties has been quite the week, though, and for the first time in my life I'm glad I have a summer birthday. This week has been all about me and those closest to me. I haven't done a single thing that I was obligated to do or that I didn't want to. I think that the last few weeks without school have helped me ease into thirty better than if it was during the year. I am, mostly, ready.
Tonight Greg and I are going to hear Chuck Klosterman at the 7th Ave Entry, then we're having dinner at Brits, where Greg has never been. I'm going to have at least one twice-baked potato. I'm also going to drink copious amounts of English beer.
Okay, I'm off to go mail my first ever story submissions to magazines, in honor of turning thirty. The mags are so far out of my league I can't even think about it, but they're not Paris Review or The New Yorker, so they're not completely impossible, and maybe my newfound thirtiness will be good luck for publication. After I mail out the subs I'm going to spend the next few hours trying to make my house look like a thirty-year-old lives here.