Adam and I played through a few hours of Mass Effect 3 today, which is one of those video games that, in the midst of action-packed quests and a wonderful storyline, presents you with a number of choices and then forces you to deal with the consequences. Some of the decisions are easy (yes, I will help you with the quest to save your lost son), but many are less obvious (the mother wants to kill the daughter, and the daughter is a serial killer, so . . . coin toss?). I've chosen to build a character who is rather heartless but loyal to her crew and committed to justice. It's been an interesting role-playing experience, since I occasionally have to set aside my own morals for the sake of making a consistent and strong character. But honestly, my only regret in the entire trilogy is choosing to put up with my in-game boyfriend after he yelled at me for being dead for a while.

Captain's log, day two. Woke up to the sound of my own crying as I came to realize just how dreadfully old I am now. Fell out of bed and broke every bone in my crippled body. Disintegrated within seconds. This blog post is coming to you from heaven, and yes, the Wi-Fi is fantastic here.

"Do you feel older?" was the greeting I received this morning when I made it to the office—not dead, not even a little bit disintegrated. It was followed by many more such inquiries throughout the day because my coworkers are very loving and very excitable and very lacking in things worthy of that love and excitement. Thus, I find myself in need of a diversion. (#Legolas)

Normally, I would just poach an interesting topic from my Twitter feed and find a creative way to make it safe to discuss in a church office environment, but my Twitter feed has been nothing but dead celebrities and Markdown madness this week. I didn't anticipate the Internet letting me down, so I suppose it's convenient that I watched Lucky Number Slevin last night—the ultimate diversion handbook, starring Josh Hartnett and a towel and some really fantastic wallpaper. (No really, you know the wallpaper in a movie is truly stunning when it can draw your attention away from Josh Hartnett. I save at least one swoon for the wallpaper every time I watch the movie.)

Anyway, I guess I need to scrounge up some weapons, a love interest, and Bruce Willis before the weekend is over, so people will stop reminding me of my own mortality.

Today is my 29th birthday. It started with one balloon, two breakfasts from Panera, three cards from coworkers, and plenty of hugs and singing and laughter. Then someone gave me a knowing look and asked, "So . . . 29, huh? How are you handling that?"

In the moment, I smiled confidently and told her I felt fine, but I've been secretly dreading that question for weeks. I'm supposed to feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice, clinging to the remnants of my youth and beauty and hope as I peer down into the valley of the shadow of death and/or my thirties. But the only things I know for certain I will miss about being a twenty-something are 1) a decade-long connection with Jamie Cullum's Twentysomething album and 2) my equally long-lasting (albeit somewhat lapsed) connection to the TwentySomethingBloggers (20SB) community.

As such, I have decided to listen to Mr. Cullum's album as I write this blog post, and I have decided that this blog post will be the first in a series of daily updates—letters from my 29-year-old self that I hope to look back on for many years to come. I don't expect that my life will be significantly different simply because I survive another trip around the sun, but I do hope that my life continues to be impacted by the memories I choose to share and remember and by the friends I meet and love because of the Internet. That is why I started blogging in the first place, and it's why I continue to share photos and tweets and vlogs and Tumblrseses and so on.

So here's to another year of memories, another year of friendships, and one last year of being a twenty-something. Cheers.