ThirtySomething from a Male POV

Ms Kitty. How true, how true. Right down to the bugs dripping down the wiper blades.

I await the next 36 days in a way that seems like my final days. Funny you bring this topic up.

Tonight I was working on - staring at - little dots on the screen, making them look like the logo at 800%, 1600% and 3200% zooms. Detail's essential in this field. All of this logo work is for one small logo of three in which I have to do before I move on to the next fun job, another website. As in fun, I mean, visible results, easy to access and bringing in more work. But for the last weeks I have read "Advancing your Career" self-help books. Just as you're experiencing step-motherhood at a late age, I am defining my last hopeful path in the job field before I go accept that mind-numbing data entry position - if I can get that job. And I am thinking about stuff...

Here I am trying to make myself comfortable and happy, doing one of the things I love, being creative. When's the last time I did the others? When's the last time I played golf? When's the last time I went to the beach? Played basketball? Dated? Loved? Lusted? Had SEX? (I mean all of it! - Not just dry heaving). I fear that 30 will hit and I'll be doing the exact same thing I've done most of this year, sitting here in front of this cancerous monitor, dotting. - All for HOPES that these 5-7 freelance projects will get me in the field.

Other thought have been running. Guys think about their physical features, too. While wrinkles and gray hair may display wisdom and experience, guts display age. I know, I've heard it many times. You're skinny! Trust me folks - it's there. The walking helped some, but moving in here has hurt as I've gourged my final months of TwentySomething. My dad has it, my brother has it, and my uncle Harold has it, displays it and wrote the rules on it - the infamous Haines' gut. I've sat in AA meetings, looking around the room. The older men have them. They sit down and it balls up, like when you make those balloon animals. When you twist, there's a bulge that pops out. "Who f-cking cares about a gut? It's sexy."

I care. I hate it. But it only bothers me because I fear it'll somehow keep me from some dream girl. Hey, if she's that shallow, screw her. Oh, how I wish! ;) So, looks, self-help, fear. All of it. I referred to all this in the blog "Salt Lick Wagons and Their Journey". I have no choice, but to choose to live for 29 until 30. Then I will live for thirty. Fear, anxiety and small pains are my roommates, but the hold less and less storage in my head, and they sure as hell don't pay the rent. I pay the rent.

Self-help. Get it while you can. While you still remember. While you still care. While you still have energy. Killjoy will be by your side and so will I. We'll slide our toetags up this year and wait for Killjoy to adjust his next year! Which brings me to my final observation, Killjoy - you have about 401 days and tag - you're it. I have 36. Ms Kitty KC has about 129 days. All of us have today.... and tomorrow .... not so much Friday, .... somewhat Saturday, ... definetly Sunday. Sunday rocks!