Thirty’s the new 20. Jay-Z said it.

I have turned thirty. I have seen Lady Gaga live, accompanied by a forearm crutch which may have been simply attributed to an homage of Paparazzi. Because, y’know, the whole “invisible disease” thing. But did I wear a Happy Birthday tiara and giftwrap? Yes. Because where else but a Lady Gaga concert would that be more appropriate?

Since turning thirty, I have also attended the Rally to Restore Sanity, which is also a lengthy story in its own right. I took as many photos as only getting to the crowded edges of the National Mall would allow, and enjoyed having a sign whose dowel fit nicely into the crutch (“Getting mad just makes my incurable brain disease worse”). I am disappointed that so many elections were blown out of the water by GOP-cultivated bots just days after such a gracious event where hundreds of thousands gathered in polite effigy to such egregious governing, but I do not for a moment regret the people I was fortunate enough to meet that day.

Also, I turned thirty and was wished a happy birthday by a stranger with whom I now have a dedicated new relationship. It’s been near-exact to a year at this point that I left my partner of nine years not expecting any manner of dating to ensue. Genuinely, I felt completely incapable of any new emotional attachments and considered that the feeling would last at least two to three years. I was happy enough with that conclusion. But the sweetness of this man has changed many of my perceptions; I found that I have not ever known what it could be like to have successfully long conversations with a partner. I know I have never known what it could be like to be with someone who is educated enough to respect my physiological limitations. Someone who understands me without regret for knowing the whole package. It still boggles my mind a bit, but right now I am only taking direction from the gut on this one.

One older brother has had a remarkable new daughter, and the other gets married this month. My family is an exhausted but unbroken unit.

And today I have bronchitis from the trip to D.C. but still no regrets. Just your average physiological shitstorm, I suppose — I am well enough to sit up and blog, so I’ll take it from there.

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