I turn 31 in a week.
This one kinda crept up on me. This year has been scrambling by like a greased otter, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised, but wham! There’s a birthday a-comin’. Hello, there….
I…hmm. Actually, I’m perfectly happy with where I am in my life at age 31 career-wise–book’s been published mainstream! Woot! second book deal secured and waiting on check! Woot!–and relationship-wise is kickin’ ass and takin’ names. Moneywise…well, hopefully that’ll fall in line with careerwise eventually, but even that’s not bad–I have low enough overhead and low enough materialism that I can maintain a reasonably comfortable lifestyle on my current income. So, yeah. Great friends, great readers, great boyfriend, love bein’ an artist…yeah, compared to this time last year? Life is waaaaaaay better. I have no complaints at all.
On the other hand, thirty-one does feel like I now have to accept that I am In My Thirties as opposed to the last hurrah of my late twenties. Still, such things come to us all in time.
Um. Nobody has to get me anything, because I’m bad about remembering these things myself, and I still kinda feel like I owe y’all for putting up with me, but to forestall those friends and family going “What do you want?” it’s just easier to point them all to my Amazon wishlist, or to say that anything Ganesh themed, Barong, ceramic, or from Villainess.net makes me happy. (And they should all get Amazon wishlists too, damnit. Those things have made my life sooooo much easier…)