What I Want From 31

I turned 31 yesterday.

Wow. That’s very strange to type.

I’m THIRTY plus ONE. Really? Because I swear I just turned 22, and I feel like I’m 26… except when I look in the mirror and see the gray hairs and bags under my eyes and the lines on my face from exhaustion. But other than that, yeah, totally don’t feel like I should be 31.

I’ll deal, though. 31 and I can actually become great friends, I think, so long as we get a few things straight.

For one, I would like for 31 to be a year I don’t assume I’m dying of cancer every time I get a cough, sniffle, bruise or cellulite. Because 30 was a little bitch like that. F-ing 30 and all it’s anxiety and irrational thoughts that came with it. F you, 30. Good riddance.

As 30’s parting gift to me, it gave me a week of worry over a giant bruise that appeared on my knee after I discovered a small, sorta itchy, kinda sting-y bump on it the night before. It’s very unsettling to find bruises in places you don’t recall getting beat with a baseball bat. Especially bruises like this:

Note: If you are prone to freaking out about things like this, don’t post a picture on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook. 1% of people will tell you it’s okay, you’ll be fine, you’re leg won’t fall off. 99% of people will tell you you’re going to have to get your leg amputated, you’ll have nerve damage, you should get your white cell levels tested, and that a spider might have laid eggs under your skin and in a few short hours your knee will erupt and give birth to thousands of tiny spiders.

Google will, of course, do nothing but confirm the suspicions of the 99%.

So, on my birthday, I woke bright and early to head to the doctor to ease my fears that this was a cancerous bruise, or possibly brought on by a brown recluse bite that was going to turn into an open, seeping wound of flesh rot.

The verdict was it’s likely a spider bite of some sort, though the doctor couldn’t say what kind, and that… I’M FINE. Totally fine. Just really not fit to be wearing any skirts at Blissdom this week.

So, 31, let’s not be so alarmist, okay?

Also, I would like 31 to be the year I don’t sit in front of my computer, refreshing Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and WordPress all at the same time, while accomplishing nothing and simultaneously freaking about all I should be accomplishing at that very moment. I want 31 to be the year I attack every day and have a PLAN.

I want 31 to not feel like I’m drinking water from a fire hose and putting our fires with spoons.

I’m not asking for the perfect body or for wealth from 31 (though I wouldn’t mind a book deal), I simply want 31 to be a year I feel in control. Just a little bit. That’s a reasonable request, don’t you think?

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