Aw crap! I’m a year older yet again?!


Ooh! My birthday falls on a Friday this year. That sort of means I can booze it up and sleep in. Being an artist sort I can kind of do that whenever. Damn…. I so lack structure. Leave me alone! I do the laundry and the dishes between creating stuffs! I digress…

I sort of look at birthdays like this looming shadow character that haunts the edges of my sight and every so often, most dramatically, sets down in front of me and waggles its Dracula fingers at me while it chants my proper number of years on this planet. Yeah, it’s kind of a dick that way. I tend to squeal and ask who does its nails. It then gets more dickish and gives me the business and I pretty much channel it out because my listening skills to that which does not interest me stopped maturing at the age of seventeen. Then I look up as though it had never been there and act surprised: “Oh crap! I’m so sorry age! You were saying? What? No! I was totally listening. I was! So, um…. remind me how old I am again? Really? Are you sure? Man… I should be so much better at this thing we call life…” You know what comes of that of course, right? My brain goes somewhere else and I start humming Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” and the character that is age and birthday gets pissed and leaves.

I do feel my age, I just feel no reason to get sobby about it. For good or bad, pretty much every single year of my life has been filled to the choking point with this and that which we call life. Would I rather some of it be different… better? Of course. I still can’t complain. I’m here, I have a good family, I have a good man that loves me, and I’m still got a lingering choke hold on “Wow! I didn’t know you were that old!” which I will take as a compliment from any 20 something Hamil-tucky check-out chick at Meijer. It’s the small victories that get us through life!