What is it about birthdays that brings on thoughts about mortality? I mean, statistically speaking, it’s not like my odds of kicking the bucket have increased significantly in the last 24 hours. So why do I feel the bittersweet pangs of melancholy?
Maybe it’s because my birthday happens in the season of the lilacs. Although, if it happened in the season of the falling leaves I think I’d feel even more mortal. Maybe it’s just a convenient excuse to let these ghosts out of the cellar for their annual haunt, before I lock them away again for another year.
I have nothing to say that others have not already said more eloquently before me. Sometimes it makes me wish I had been born a thousand years ago, so I could at least claim an original thought. Then I remember what their personal hygiene was like, and I feel glad to live in the 21st Century. We may never get our jet packs, and our teleporters, but there’s no denying the glory of indoor plumbing.
I’m halfway to Eighty-Six, which sounds a lot worse than it is. Why I’ve still got over 20 years until I have to worry about retiring. Uh, wait… that’s not making me feel any better.
I’m twice as wise as I was at 21-1/2! I’m twice as experienced! Twice as savvy! Five times more wealthy! I’ve been to 20+ more countries, and met thousands more people than I had then! I’ve drunk countless delicious beers, and supped on thousands of delectable meals! I have two wonderful children, and a beautiful wife! A loving family! Lots of new and old friends!
Hot damn. It’s working.
I haz a blog!!!!
OK, let’s quit while I’m ahead.
Sorry folks. No stories today. I’ve been casting my nets, but they keep coming up empty at the moment.