They Say Its Your Birthday
Happy Birthday to Me. Its 46, by the way, and I'm strongly fighting the urge to descend into maudlin ramblings about the nature of my own mortality. I was going to have a mid-life crisis back when I was 45, but I got busy with the new job and it shot right past me.
I feel my age, of course, and I also have to say I've wracked up a number of accomplishments, personal and professional, which I am proud of. Got a good chunk of the American Dream. Have written a lot, and have gotten published a lot. I am fortunate to have a loving wife (currently taking a test in her tax course), good friends, and an interesting job.
Of course, when I'm not looking, I catch myself checking out the grey at the temples, or the smile lines around the eyes that stay there even when I'm not smiling. Co-workers say I don't look my age, but then, I've got books older than some of my co-workers (there, I've put it in print - I never have to use that joke verbally again). Its a good life, and I'm fighting the urge to spin into fear that I can't keep it going, or regrets over things done or not done, or sadness over the shortness of the mortal span.
Ack! Maudlin ramblings attack! I think I'll go somewhere quiet for the next few days, and come back (hopefully) less tired and old.
See you much later,