30 and Okay

I turned 30 on Friday. I started this post on Friday, but ended up on the phone with American Express requesting they cover the cost of a cracked light on a rental car that I didn't cause. I think as a full -fledged "college will never happen again" adult, I'll be doing a lot more of those "a lot of money is at stake" chores. I also spent the day moisturizing my neck and popping calcium supplements like Tic Tacs. So now it's 11 am on a Monday and I'm sitting at my plastic Ikea dining room table covered in whatever tablecloth that was on sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond, blogging, jobless and 30. I spent the last few days taking a mental inventory of my life right now. I'm still wound-licking a past life I miss: friends, bars that don't clear out at 1 am, leaving the responsibility of transportation in the hands of the MTA or a cab driver, a city that forces you to tolerate the sights, smells, moods, and wavering mental and emotional stability of those around you. I'm lonely and isolated at times. I feel like I'm floating around this town without any roots . My four months in LA must be an alternate reality and real life will kick in once I land in JFK for a visit. Plastic furniture, unemployment, and maybe a minor self-absorbed existential crisis aside, everything is actually okay. Since I moved to LA, I've never felt more creative, focused, productive and excited about the future. And my dishes have never been cleaner. Maybe that's 30. Making yourself uncomfortable enough in order to find a little happiness. Speaking of uncomfortable, this post makes me really uncomfortable. Perhaps an Acme Anvil will fall through my ceiling and onto my Mac Book right now and I won't be able to post this. No? Okay.