Posthuman Blues

I turn 31 in August. I'll officially be in my thirties, something I can rightfully deny right now, since being 30 is no more "in my thirties" than 2000 was the "turn of the millennium." I'm a little disheartened by aging, not because of getting older but because I feel even less part of the human continuum, which has always proven elusive. It's like being an android who sees itself in danger of obsolescence; there are plenty of newer models on my heels, all eager to partake of the very experiences I've shunned or, more often, simply ignored. Cue Morrissey.

Paradoxically, I don't feel that bad. I'm not particularly depressed, just a little angry -- at myself, I suppose -- and prone to moodiness (some of which is a good thing, although surprisingly difficult to decipher).