Well friends, I turned 30 over the weekend (holy shit) while getting tattooed in Chicago. It was a fairly stressful birthday, not because of the number, but because of the tattooing. I'm back home in Madison now, and attempting to reflect on my life thus far.
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Today is my birthday. The last year of my 20's. Every birthday, I'm reminded of the beautiful short story, "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros:
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one.