2001-11-30 - 1:01 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Salesman", by The Monkees

Despite the unseasonably warm weather, due to the lack of sunlight -- lacking even more than usual because of the ridiculous hours I've been keeping (sleeping 1am to 9am or later) -- the usual winter paranoia has been affecting me. I seem to be having the usual inexplicable aches and pains that I get in the winter, which leads my inner hypochondriac to start thinking I'm riddled with cancer or what have you.

Sigh. My rational mind, at present, manages to banish those thoughts fairly quickly. I am, after all, just a few days away from turning thirty. That's quite old. :) Man, I remember when seniors in high school seemed so old and wise.

The fact remains, however, that I'm thinking about death more than usual. I'm aware that it's inevitable, but I really, really don't want it to come along anytime soon. I find myself pleading with the Fates to just let me please live to be at least 50, if not longer. Just not now.

I mean, life is just SO EXCITING! There's so much to DO! So much to LEARN! Things to see, people to MEET! I think, if I stayed relatively healthy, that I could live for a hundred years and still not be tired of it.

The thing is, I feel like my life has really just begun. I could probably say that turning thirty is more like turning seven-and-a-half. I don't feel like my life really began until I graduated from college, got a job, got my own apartment, and really began MY LIFE, as opposed to life as my parent's daughter. Only 7.5 measly years! Maybe you could say that college was part of it -- I was fairly autonomous then, if not financially -- but that only brings me up to 11.5 years.

And you know what I really want, is to be able to retire someday and pursue all those things I don't have time to pursue right now because I'm busy working. I think if I am going to live past 50 (if I'm not, I do NOT want to know), I'd like someone to tell me exactly how long I have, so that I can plan it so I have at least five years of retirement.

Hm, I wasn't going to talk about this in the journal, because everything is still completely in the "what-if" stage, but since I don't seem to get crushed by disappointment very often, what the heck.

My husband is under consideration to be interviewed for a job, and has applied for another, and both possibilities have me bouncing off the walls with how exciting they are. I suppose it's okay to get excited, because if these don't work out, something equally exciting is bound to come along.

The first position is in southeastern Pennsylvania. The company, however, wants him to train at corporate headquarters for a year. Those headquarters are in Charleston, SC.

Awhile back I made a list of all the cities on the east coast that sounded like interesting places to live, and Charleston is at the top of that list. The problem with it, of course, is that it's nowhere near family. But to live there for a year would be utterly fabulous!!

The other position is in Jacksonville, FL, and is a very good fit for him experience-wise. Everything I've seen of Jacksonville suggests that I would really, really like it there. Plus, if we moved there, his parents would most likely move north (his dad's company has an office there, plus his mother is madly in love with St. Augustine), or at the very least, they'd drive up to visit us all the time. Poindexter's other parents are retiring to Georgia, too.

This part is really farfetched, but I like to daydream: His sister has considered moving to Atlanta (if she ever moves at all), plus his uncle has looked at moving to Florida as well, which would mean that if all went well, Florida would become the geographic center of Poindexter's family the way PA/NJ is of mine.

Sigh. So I spend time looking at maps and looking at realtor.com and daydreaming. And trying not to get too excited.