Oldness.

       There are some advantages to being at the doorstep of death my thirties. For one, I'm never carded when buying alcohol. I'm not even sure why I get it out anymore since they always give me that "Honey, please" look when I do. It's also kind of the perfect dating age -- the young ones still want you and the old ones are desperate for you. I just reminded myself of that hilarious Garfunkel and Oates song:

       So I may not be quite that optimistic. Mostly just trying to convince myself I'll survive. My friends who've already surpassed the three-decade benchmark admit a little apprehension, but they say that then the day comes, goes, and you've gotten past it. Yeah, I have another year before I get there. I'm only at my first 29th birthday. I just thought I'd be a bit further along by now. Ok, I'm 600 miles from home and I'm somewhat self-sufficient. But I'm supposed to be a famous writer with a hot man on my arm living in NYC and spending money like I'm printing it. I suppose I have a year still...