Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I’m sixty-four?

So yesterday Fat Alan celebrated his 60th birthday. 60 years on this revolving mass of rock and it got me thinking – what will I have to show at 60?

Currently at 30 I have a room filled with boxes and a demented Kitler cat. I have no formal higher education, no relationship or children but I have two boxes filled with baking utensils.

I cried when I turned 30 (and when I turned 25!), not only because turning 30 came at the worst period in my life but because it suddenly dawned on me “what the fuck have you done?”. And to be honest, I couldn’t answer that question easily. I racked my brains as I spent the day on my own buying new underwear and watching Near Dark surrounded by couples. I brought Japanese food and came back to the flat and ate it in bed alone, albeit for a tiny paw who tried valiantly to procure one or two pieces of sushi, and thought about it some more.

Yesterday I was still thinking about it. 3 months have passed since my 30th and I still wasn’t sure of the answer. My brother the Hobo told me he couldn’t even think about what it meant to be 30 and told me it was old. My parents friends all talked about how turning 60 was the new 50 but at the same time questioned why turning 60 still meant you were chasing the ever elusive free bus pass.

I ended yesterday in bed again (this time without Japanese or a cat) alone and crying. Crying because I feel at 30 I am now chasing dreams that may not happen, and I think I am too scared of what letting go of them will mean. It could also be that at 30, I will be returning to my childhood bedroom and under my parents rules again. Or it could be that at 30 I’ve given up friends, situations and my home for someone who was an utter shit to me, who now has everything HE ever wanted (except me dead).

This morning I woke up and still felt like utter shit and then my phone beeped. I had a message from the lovely LouLou telling me how her and her new husband had found a C&A on their mini-moon and had brought me a Clockhouse carrier bag back (YAH FOR THE SPANISH!) so we could do French Day properly now. There was also FB pictures of someone who was horrific to me at secondary school looking rather fat and poorly dressed, emails from recruitment agencies and amusing Twitter insights. I was also reminded today is the day I get to see two of my most favourite people in the world – Hats and Evey, as well as my other family who I haven’t seen in ages.

But best of all, was the final confirmation that HE is seeing a girl who HE has very publicly slagged off to several people. And yes, as shallow and as non female friendly as it is, a girl who is 10 x bigger and uglier then me.

And that was the moment I needed.

That was the moment when I realised what turning 30 was about. 30 is about knowing what you want, being who you want to be, surrounding yourself with people you want to be around and walking away from all the shit you don’t need in your life.

So its taken 3 months and a long relationship with an utter cunt but I’m slowly getting used to the idea that 30 is the new 20. 30 is fabulous and I am a free, single and pretty awesome 30 year old.

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