three-oh

Turning 30, A poem by Karina Koot.

Turning 30 is like
turning 29,
only more difficult to pronounce
if you're a non-
native
English speaker.

Only 71 more days until my birthday dudes and lady-dudes! Now, I know you've all been making notes and thinking about what to get me since June 26th of last year because that's how giddy you get at the thought of buying me the perfect present.... buuuuut 

Just in case you're still wondering (hahahaha, I know, silly. But really, just in case you know, you had an accident this year and have been in a coma for months and months and have been eating apple sauce intraveinously and only just awoke and your first thought was HOLY CRAP ONLY 71 DAYS LEFT!! You know.) I have compiled a list of things that I desperately want to know what they look like wrapped up. :

::To the person who will now send me pictures of the following items in wrapping paper: Har har:::

1. A blank, good quality note-/sketchbook. (Moleskine is always good)

2. Drawing Pencils

3. Bill Murray

4. A Holga. It doesn't have to be red. Green or blue or purple or yellow would do nicely as well. Any colour, really, as long as it's a Holga.

5. Film for a Holga.

6. Pretty yarn

7. An Alphonse Mucha print for on my wall

8. Guitar Strings

Did you get all that, or was I going too fast for you? No? Got it? Good. You're welcome.

I know turning 30 is supposed to be a big deal and all but meh. I'm a lucky girl, you know? I don't care about aging and losing my devilish good looks, I don't mind that I can't pull all-nighters anymore without feeling hung-over for a week. I could care less about the grey hairs and the only reason I might dye my hair at some point or another is because I've always wanted to be a fiery red-head like this chick:

But then I'd also want her freckles so yeah, I might just never happen. 

Anyway, expect some more posts about the fact that my twenties are nearly over because I might just feel like reflecting a bit. They were, as the twenties often are, pretty tumultuous.