Four. Oh.

In less than two months, I'll be turning 40. For some reason, it's freaking me out. I'm really not that type of person, you know, the type who cares about age or grey hairs (of which I am suddenly sporting more than just a few) or weight (of which I am currently sporting more than at any non-pregnant time in my life) or anything of the sort. I don't wear makeup. The only times I dress fairly well are when my sister hands me down her fashionable clothes. My hair hasn't been moussed or blown dry in a decade, at least. It's a well-known fact that I completely missed Girl School. So why does the idea of turning 40 make me want to puke? Damned if I know.

It is interesting, however, to look back at 30 and realize how little I have in common with the me of ten years ago. That TC was just out of a 7-year relationship that never went anywhere--and shoudn't have. She had moved to Los Angeles just over six months before, and flew back to New York for her birthday, where her mother threw her a surprise party, and invited people that this TC barely keeps in touch with. (Well, except for J, who just a few months later would set me up with his brother, Baroy. I'm still in touch with him, since, you know, he's family now.)

In the ten years since, I've gotten married, had two children, moved four times, bought two houses and purchased a minivan. I've had three jobs, freelanced twice, written a documentary series and a book, and am starting on my second book. I've made many new friends--keepers, all of them--and kept, well, a few of the old. I have to wear glasses. I've learned to cross stitch, and do hardanger embroidery, and to tat. I've started a running progam. And, of course, I've endured almost ten years of having my family stalked every now and again. I almost didn't endure, but almost doesn't count.

I don't even resemble that woman of ten years ago. (And I don't even live on the same planet as the girl of twenty years ago.) I have to say, though, that I really don't miss her. She was fun, but she made bad choices, and she was yearning for all the things I have today.

Now if only the new, improved me could explain why this birthday milestone is feeling more like a millstone...