Checkpoint 30 :: What does my forehead read?

Every year around my birthday I do an inventory. Sort of a mental inventory of where am I now, where am I going, am I being the person I want to be kinda psychological hoopla. This year, all the fucking drama in my life is keeping me from taking tabs on life. It's a definite distraction from living.

Three things I know already. I'm not readjusting well to the transition from Movie to Normal Life. That's an easy one to see. It's always hard but now made extremely difficult by the lack of closure. Two, having a nervous breakdown fucks with your emotional hold on living. Three, I am faced with the problematic aspect of my acting out.

All three of these things combined pretty much turn me into an asshole. Something I'm not all that intrigued with being. But it's something, that is a direct result of all the stress and pressure I've been under. I had been sitting and wondering just when it was that I was going to turn. On my calander, I marked the date as October 6. My birthday of course. My thirtieth birthday to be precise.

Thirty marks a date of failure for me from the past. Years ago, I couldn't wait to turn thirty. I longed to be thirty. I knew thirty was a benchmark for a women. Especially a female Opera singer. Thirty is when the voice fully matures and you can start to take on some of the richer and fuller roles in the Opera Repertoire. I gave up alot to study and quite a bit to sing. I still can not accept the failure.

Thirty marks a date of failure for me today as well. Giving up the Opera, I got to experience living in other ways. I threw myself fully into another career. One where I thrived despite the craziness surrounding me. I gave alot to work and gain acceptance. I am stunned by this failure.

Thirty marks a date where I turned full circle. Still not happy. Still failing. Still giving all of myself and shocked when life hands me nothing in return. Here I am with only three things to inventory this year and all extremely depressing.

I wonder how I can not have learned anything in these thirty years? Am I so naive that I only mouth the words and no longer live them? Am I still asking myself the hard questions? Better yet, am I still looking for the answers?

And what did I learn on October 6?

Failure can make you an asshole. But an apology makes you feel like even more of one.

It must be blinking like a red light on my forehead.