Turning Thirty

I’m nine years old today. Why is everyone screaming? It’s the booze. It gotta be. They only ever come together to drink and to air dirty laundry. I don’t enjoy my birthdays. My friends have parties where they invite everyone over. We only ever have family gatherings that end in boozy screaming.

I’m fourteen years old today. I could choose my guest list. I didn’t invite anyone, except for an aunt I really like. She’s not really my aunt, a cousin on my father’s side, and she doesn’t drink as much. Her husband works with computers. I spend my first few minutes on the internet at their place. They haven’t arrived yet, but my grandparents have. Invitation be damned; family comes first. They don’t listen to me when I tell them that they should wait with the cake. They just eat. My aunt hasn’t arrived yet.

I’m eighteen years old today. I’ve been living in this shack for the entire summer. I was kicked out of the house just after New Years. My family isn’t talking to me, my friends are busy with school. I haven’t been to school in two years. I’m celebrating with a dude I met over the summer. He won’t stick. The shack is a Laube, a sort of allotment garden between train tracks. Germany is weird. I guess people need space away from the city, but with easy access to transportation. Life is weird. Where am I going next?

I’m twenty-one years old today. I have a few friends. Well, my then-girlfriend has friends. And I have people I met at the comic book store. They won’t stick. I made this big invitation and handed it to the people. I think they laugh behind my back. It seems silly, but it is what I do. We hang out at a bar, and everything’s seems good. We drink cheap drinks and I get a bunch of comics. On the way home I misread a cue on the bus and almost start a fight. The dude spit in my face. It’s not all good. I’m ashamed.

I’m twenty-four years old today. I’m hanging out with my friends. This is third set of people in five years. They will stick. We’re drinking beer, we hang out at a shitty bar. I start to feel like my life is moving in a direction that is not altogether bad.

I’m twenty-seven years old today. I’m bombing at Lagari. I started doing stand-up comedy a few months ago, and it’s taking over my life. I let everything slide and manically pursue the laughter. It’s like a drug for me. I can’t control it. I know that I need more balance. I don’t want to face that fact, though, so I drink. I drank last night and arrogantly assume I could kill tonight. This isn’t the worst bombing of my short-lived career, but I’ll always remember it as a Moment. The host remains gracious throughout, but I know he must be pissed. I would be pissed. I am pissed.

I’m thirty years old today. I have a steady job, I work on video games on the side. I’ve got ideas for scripts. I’m firing on all cylinders. Our two baby boys, Ben and Freddie, were born two weeks ago. They are in the hospital, because they were born ten weeks too soon. They are the coolest dudes I’ve ever met. Going to the hospital every day is exhausting, but soon we won’t have to anymore. They’ll be home. I have balance now. I do my creative stuff, I take care of my mental health, and I spend time with family. My chosen family. My girlfriend, our sons, my friends. Life is good. Bring on the next decade.