Technically, I wasn't depressed at being a thirty-year-old.
I was depressed at being an unemployed live-with-parents never-been-kissed thirty-year-old with a teenager-level acne problem.
Whose dreams the previous night, by the way, all involved his father yelling at him for being an unemployed live-with-parents thirty-year-old. Dad doesn't yell at me about it, but the dreams were quite realistic, if set in my childhood home instead of this one.
Mind, my spouse only moved out of his parents' house at 34.
...please don't get me started researching causes and treatments of acne. I mean, unless you want me to do that. In which case I would. But I'm trying to remember to ask first.
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Happy Birthday.
I've got two more to go before I hit that.
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And sheesh, don't knock 30. I'm 36.
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I was depressed at being an unemployed live-with-parents never-been-kissed thirty-year-old with a teenager-level acne problem.
Whose dreams the previous night, by the way, all involved his father yelling at him for being an unemployed live-with-parents thirty-year-old. Dad doesn't yell at me about it, but the dreams were quite realistic, if set in my childhood home instead of this one.
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Mind, my spouse only moved out of his parents' house at 34.
...please don't get me started researching causes and treatments of acne. I mean, unless you want me to do that. In which case I would. But I'm trying to remember to ask first.
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But hey, hopefully it ends up being a happy birthday anyway.
-kat