Quick catch up: belated Happy Birthdays to Darren and Denise, and best wishes for a speedy recovery to Michael Larsen.

I’m 30 years old today. Three decades. Three hundred and sixty months. (I’d go into weeks, days, and so forth, but I’m too lazy.) Everyone keeps asking me “How does it feel to be 30?”, as though I was supposed to wake up this morning and have some sort of grand revelation. Well, unless “Where are my glasses?” is a revelation of some sort, I’m sorry to disappoint. Maybe it’s too soon to say, but 30 feels about the same as 29, except that I can’t say I’m “twenty-something” anymore. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

I’ve been taking it easy this…well, ‘weekend’ isn’t exactly right, but I haven’t been to work yet this week, so it FEELS like a weekend. Saw a movie, played some poker, ate out a bunch, put up some new blinds in my apartment…and generally just trying to follow the advise my boss, James, gave me about enjoying your time off. To wit, I’ve intentionally been keeping away from my computer, which is why I haven’t posted anything in while. In fact, I’ve found that the best relief for stress may be spending the afternoon with Darren’s daughter, Cindi (you know…the cutest baby ever?) – somehow, when you’re helping an 18-month old to learn the difference between ‘up’ and ‘down’, the rest of the world doesn’t seem so important.

The capper on the ‘weekend’ was dinner tonight with Stacey, Spike, Darren and what’s-her-face at Winberries, followed by ice cream at Halo Pub. Thanks, guys! (Special thanks to Stacey for taking charge of the thing and putting up with my chronic indecisiveness.)

Unfortunately, it’s back to reality tomorrow – no avoiding it, no matter how much vacation time I still have left. And as much faith as I have in my co-workers, I’m just hoping I don’t have too much mopping-up to do tomorrow.

(Rejected titles for this post: “XXX (the number, not the other kind)”, “Only 4 more years in the ‘choice’ demographic”)