Three decades of defecation

I’m spinning uncontrollably down towards my 30th birthday. It seems insane, unreal and infinitely finite. Hate my job; hate the thought of looking for another one. Going through the motions; going nowhere. Completely devoid of positive ambition, dreams or desires. Devoid. Take a deep breath. And another. Before you know it, it’s next year. Not that it matters. They’re all the same, they just become gradually shorter and less enjoyable. Don’t want to turn 30. Don’t want.