Sometimes you don't notice things until you do.

Like how you don't notice the inordinate amount of "for sale" signs protruding from lawns around town until you decide to start looking for a house.

(And then, when your employment status becomes suddenly precarious and you decide home-buying might not be a smart idea right now you still see all those dang "for sale" signs. But now those obstinate signboards seem to taunt you.)

With the Turning 30 countdown at a mere 13 days, I've become highly attuned to spotting references to the number. In fact it almost seems like 30 is stalking me.

At the grocery store my food total rings up to $30.30.

My Google mapped directions say it'll take exactly 30 minutes to reach my destination.

The speed limit everywhere, suddenly, is 30.

The inspection number on my cheap fabric bag is - you guessed it - 30.

Even my bib number for the recent Think. Go. Get it. scavenger hunt was 30. Okay, it was 32. But you still have to say "thirty" when you say "thirty two" so it counts.

30s are everywhere. But they always have been. My keen sense of observation is only a symptom of a subtle pre-30 anxiety. Nothing a few deep breaths and a few tall drinks can't pacify.

And I know the panic - however mild - is absurd. I also know I'm not alone - and I have proof. (Ha! "Overdramatic" my arse!)

See, I was chatting about whole 30 thing with a friend recently and he admitted to being similarly pensive about the 20-to-30 transition when he went through it this summer.

Even better, he has a song about it.

He didn't write it himself - it actually came free with an EP he bought online through Wrapping Paper's Myspace page. The seller offered to write a personalized song as part of the sale: "The 'Hold Up The Neon Sign' ep by Wrapping Paper can be purchased here for $6 and is an mp3 only release. No shipping charges! Also if you buy a copy of the ep, I will write a Wrapping Paper song of your very own."

My friend happened to have his impending 30th on his mind (as well as a bit of melancholy over years past). The grass, it seemed, was greener back then.

But I think maybe we all look too fondly on the past. Or perhaps we're just to harsh with our present. Deep thoughts.

At any rate, without further adieu:

The somber turning 30 song

For those of you can't listen to mp3s at the moment (because you're at work and you're supposed to be working but, like me, find yourself routinely distracted by e-mails, inter-cubicle conversation and -- oh! Is that a helicopter out there?) here are some of the lyrics:

"Turning 30 isn't a crime
but it seems like
it's a sentence"

Sing it, oh wise, eBay Wrapping Paper songwriter from St. Paul named Andrew Meyer.

I'm erring more towards 30 optimism, but I still feels ya.