It is that time of year again. You know, that one day where some people try to make you celebrate that one thing you did all those years ago. That being born thing. Not that I really remember doing anything that day worth celebrating, least of all for 30 freaking years. But oh well. The kids like it, so I play along for their sake.

The rumor is they are pretty excited about my cake. Usually I will pick what I want (and it usually isn't cake-I am much more of a pie person), but this year it may have been that I am a bit tired (internship does that to ya), perhaps I am subconsciously trying to hide from the big 3 and 0 or perhaps it is something else entirely. Whatever the case may be, I didn't have the energy to pick what kind of cake I wanted, so I told the kids to surprise me. I look forward to what they come up with.

30 seems like something of a landmark. 20 just wasn't a big deal. I was on my mission, in the middle of Guatemala, and nothing special happened. But 30 just seems like a bigger deal. I always thought that people in their 30's were getting old. Now that is me. Getting old.

But only as old as I feel. Which, by the way, is pretty old today. Hitting that wall. . .