Obsessions with the time loss

I've been known to sit staring at a clock in order not to miss a moment of time, but what kind of time is that? I always feel like time is slipping through my fingers. I think it's a traditional mid-life crisis element to fear the passing of time and the inevitable sense of loss for unaccomplished goals. Putting aside the fact that I'm not quite yet at the mid-life state, I think there is something to that for myself. I used to have the reoccurring dream that I would die mysteriously on my thirtieth birthday. As the angst of adolescence wore on, the idea became a kind of mantra to me; that I had until my thirty to accomplish whatever it was I felt I was bound here to this Earth for, and for a long time the idea actually drove me to manically try to converge on every possibility I could find for meaningfulness in life. I went through sweeping lifestyle changes with the snap of a finger...one minute a hippie, the next a yuppie, then a punk, then blue collar, then collegiate, and on. I wanted a mass of life experience to work with as an author, and to see spinning through my head as I choke on my birthday cake. Now that the ominous birthday is no more than a month away, I'm forced to think about this premonition again. It hasn't been in my head much since my early twenties, but as I approach the magic number, I feel a slight sense of the kind of loss that goes with the experience of bi-polar like symptoms. If you've ever had those manic times when sleep is unnecessary and working at anything with ferocious intensity is the norm, then the normal levels of excitement and concentration pale by comparison. On the flip side are the crushing depressions that level yr ability to accomplish anything. During those times, it's a victory just to get out of bed, so there are swaths of life that consist of virtually nothing. It can be a hard life to reflect on without the cautious eye of a philosopher, which is why I tend to be philosophic about it.
Ultimately, what I saying is that I'm nowhere near to the place I intend to get with my life, and thirty years was just not enough to get there. I hope my early dreams and premonitions turn out to be foolishness, but in this last month leading up to the moment of truth, it's hard not to think back to a time when I was sure I wouldn't even make it this far.