Turning 34

34I turned 34 yesterday and I’m not exactly thrilled with it (not to be confused with the actual birthday part, in which I enjoyed myself very much).

It’s not the getting older part that I don’t like. I prefer that to the alternative (aka dead). And I’m not one of those people that protests their own birthday because of the whole getting older thing. Are you kidding? This is MY day! I can do almost anything on the basis that it’s my birthday.

No, it’s not any of that. It’s just the number. 34. It sounds like a drag.

I’ve talked before about my weird number quirks. I like 3’s and multiples of 3. I was really excited to be 33 because, holy cow, that’s TWO 3’s! Double your 3 pleasure! Better yet, 33 adds up to 6! A multiple of 3! An actual doubling of 3’s pleasure!

34…that’s not a multiple of 3. Worse, it adds up to 7. Everyone else raves about that number, but it’s my least favorite. In fact, it leads me to believe that my entirety of 34 is going to be a huge bummer, as opposed to 33, which I felt sure would be fabulous simply based on the 3 factor.

Okay, yes, I’m weird. Weird to the point that I’ve been thinking of just telling everyone I’m 36 for the next few years (I’m not sure I’m digging 35 just yet either), so I can avoid being 34, at least in spirit.

Hey, if age is just a number, I should be able to do that, right?

Saying I’m 36 might also give my perception of really spending the year being 34 a boost. I don’t have high hopes for the year because of that number. Maybe I can use the 36 magic to boost my spirits some and make it a better year than I anticipate.

You never know. Maybe that little number manipulation might make me change my mind and claim to be 34, really own it.

Sure, why not?

It’s all in the math, baby.

*I have been reminded of Internet Rule #34. I’m not sure if that will make my year better or worse, but it definitely made my view of it more interesting.

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